Tempus Fugit: Reborn
by dogmeathasdied
Summary: A tribute novel to Year One of Destiny. A Guardian rises and must find her place in a dangerous and unfamiliar world, with the help of her Ghost, the power of the Light, and an exuberant Warlock. Meanwhile, tragedy in the City provokes one young woman to take a hard look at the Tower. Book one of a planned three-part series.
1. A Length of Cloth

She woke in golden sun and freezing snow, to a little voice urging her to rise. There was a word on her dry lips A name? It was there and gone in an instant, retreating into the nothing where memory should have been.

 **Eyes up, Guardian!** The voice spoke again. She turned her face to it.

Brightness and cold. Powdery ice whisked across her naked body. Freezing, hard metal pressed against her back. She shuddered from the cold, from a strange energy that made her want to explode into movement.

Something clicked and buzzed near her face. She squinted and blinked against the blinding, low sun. A tiny bright eye was watching her.

 **You must be freezing! Stupid, stupid…! I should have thought of that!** The voice admonished itself. It came from the little eye, a decidedly male timbre and tinged with chirps and clicks. From nowhere, a length of cloth circled her neck. She huddled her chin into the soft fabric, wrapped trembling hands around her arms.

 **That's not going to be enough!** the eye fretted. **Hang on…here, this should help!**

The wind was suddenly muffled. She could no longer feel the frozen ground on her skin. A hard shell enveloped her head with a tinted visor that relieved her aching eyes. Her breath hissed in her ears, filtered through a mask that barely warmed the bitter air. She struggled to sit upright, concentrating on the little eye hovering before her. The creature glowed. Not just by the sun glinting off of its metallic shell and quivering little triangular fins, or by the cool blue light of its gaze. This was a glow whose warmth tugged at something inside of her.

 **Oh, wow! It worked! You're really alive!**

The eye flitted back and forth, fins quivering.

 **I'm a Ghost** , it said. **You're a Guardian now — my Guardian!**

She stared at it, entranced by its movement, trying to make sense of the sensations rushing in on her. Cold, wind, sun…a massive, crumbling wall ahead, a behemoth of metal plates and tree-trunk thick cabling. Guardian? Was that her name? She had no reason not to believe it. There was nothing before her waking. Her mind hit a wall as she tried to remember why she was here with this strange creature. No matter how much she scrabbled at that wall, she was met with an utter blank void with no edge to grasp or tendril to pull on that would lead to recognition.

I **know you're confused** , the Ghost soothed. **You've been dead a long time. I'll explain everything when —**

A long, strange howl cut through the wind. Others rose to meet it. The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

 **We have to go! It's not safe here!**

She stood for the first time. Her first few steps wobbled, booted feet crunched through a hard rime of crusty snow to dried brown grass. Then her tentative steps grew bolder, steadier. The Ghost watched her all the while, fins spinning and twitching like expressive little wings. It strayed ahead of her and she felt a twinge of fear that it would leave her alone in this unfamiliar waste. Dead? She had been dead?

The Ghost rushed back to her side and —

She couldn't have said how she knew it was a part of her. While the Ghost seemed to have disappeared, she knew it was actually within her, even before it spoke inside her mind to reassure her of its presence. The feeling was something like the cloth around her neck, warming and comforting.

 **Get inside the wall** , it commanded.

She lurched forward, away from the broken remains of an ancient vehicle. Her surroundings came to her in waves of impressions. A sea of rusted metal cars. The broken skeletons of bridges and outbuildings. The great dome of the sky, mountains touching dark clouds. A vast, white, windswept land opening behind her in a dizzying stretch to the horizon. The howls came again, somewhere far to her left. She tensed, freezing in place and staring off into the distance.

 **This is Fallen territory.** The Ghost was solemn.

The name meant nothing to her. A battered tarp whipped and snapped in the wind. She slipped between two upended vehicles. Her feet picked around scattered bones sticking out of the frozen ground. Something terrible had happened here.

She passed into the enormous wall through a narrow hall where sunlight filtered through windows caked in dirt. Her shadow skittered before her, lithe and quick. She mounted stairs two at a time onto a walkway, legs pumping, skin tingling beneath the supple suit and sleek armor plates she now wore. She felt very awake now. Maybe it was the oxygen seeping into her mask, or maybe it was the Ghost's presence within her. Whatever the cause, her earlier stupor was burning away against the sheer joy of movement and the growing certainty that she was being hunted.

 **We need to get you a weapon.**

A weapon. Yes, of course. She would not be defenseless prey.

The Ghost left her. It left little tendrils of light in its wake, zipping into the gloom. She faltered, gripping the walkway's railing. She wanted to call out and tell it to come back. Her mouth was too dry, her tongue too heavy. For the first time, a little claw of fear jabbed into her throat and tugged.

 **Over here!**

A brilliant beam of light shot from the Ghost and illuminated the walkway in front of her. It watched her expectantly and turned its light to a dust-coated rifle propped against an unmarked trunk.

 **I hope you know how to use it…**

She hefted the rifle, aimed down the sights, peered through the cracked lens. She did know how. There were no memories, no experiences, to accompany that certainty. The rifle just felt…right. Her hands moved over it as if of their own accord. It was still loaded. The safety had been left off. The previous owner hadn't meant to leave it for long. She swiped the dust off the lens and looked back at the Ghost. Something crunched underneath her boot. Ghost's light swung down, showing her a brittle bone caught in the tread. A yellowed human skull gazed up at them beside the trunk. She stepped back, kicking spent bullets into dark corners.

 **Follow me!** the Ghost urged.

The Ghost left its light on as they moved further into the gigantic wall. She could hear her footsteps echoing as the hallway opened into the vast, shadowy interior.

 **Let me get some light in here.**

Again the Ghost darted ahead, through ribbons of wan sunlight filtering through cracks and vents far overhead. Further and further away it went, up into the surrounding black. All was quiet. The shadows were palpable, pressing down on her, swallowing her ability to reason. She gulped against the claw in her throat and flexed her fingers on the rifle.

A loud crack made her jump. Pale, greenish light popped on high overhead, followed by another and another, all down a line. The shadows shifted. Disturbed by the light, dark shapes swarmed and crawled down the long, diagonal buttresses. Rapid clicks and growls rang out and bounced through the cavernous space. The little Ghost reappeared, soaring back to her side.

 **The Fallen! We've got company!** It disappeared again.

Something landed behind her. She spun, rifle at the ready. The green light reflected off shining teeth in a howling mouth. A wicked dagger slashed the air in front of her, humming with electricity. This was not a friend. This was not anything come to save her from the terrible emptiness in her mind. This was death.

She fired.

The report echoed over and over. The creature in front of her shuddered and fell, whining and twitching in its death throes. Dark blood smeared the metal walkway. Another crash as a second creature leapt down from above, snarling at her in incoherent rage. She jammed the butt of the rifle up into its face, shot again. This one did not die so easily. It lunged at her, screaming while the bullets tore into its strange leathery skin, until one took it in the forehead and it tumbled to the floor onto its companion. Four small, gimlet eyes stared blankly up at the shadows, their light already dimming. Gas hissed out of its open mouth from a brutal metal ring too large for its jaws to close around. Tendrils leaked between razor sharp teeth. Fallen. Its skin was dark grey and tough looking, the lipless mouth too wide. A shock of crimson hair sprouted from the top of its head through an opening in its simple helm. It had long legs, powerfully muscled, ending in two claws. It was not the same as her, whatever she was.

More of them were flooding the walkway. A bolt of white hot, crackling electricity whisked by her head with a resounding clap. She wheeled around to face that threat. From a parallel catwalk, a Fallen thing leveled its weapon at her. The muzzle sparked with deadly promise. Two arms held the rifle. Two more arms tensed at its sides. In the space of a breath she rolled to the side, just as the charged shot streaked through the air.

 **We've got to keep moving!** the Ghost cried. **Maybe there's a friendly salvage ship nearby we can catch to the City!**

Staying put to fight every one of the creatures swarming down to her would be suicide. The walkway she was on wound away into the wall's interior. There was no way of telling where it let out. There was no way for her to judge where she should be going, except that it needed to be far from this place. The rifle opened the way through a crush of bodies blocking her path. Howls and screams and the strange gas filled the air.

More Fallen pressed in around her as she ran. One stood before her, snarling defiance, taking a sparking, serrated blade from its hip. She dodged smoothly past its frantic thrust, bumping into another who scratched her helm with its claws. It tugged savagely, trying to unmask her. The one with the blade made another swipe at her. The butt of her rifle swept up and the creature's teeth cracked against the stock. She swept the blade out of its stunned hand and jabbed it behind her. The point glanced off her other attacker's armor. It wrenched her head around viciously — her neck answered with loud, protesting pops — and she stabbed again. This time the knife slipped through softer material, burying into flesh. The electrified blade sizzled as it cut. Her attacker shrieked in pain. It twisted away and the knife slipped from her grasp.

She was on the move again, elbowing another snapping mouth, shooting at grasping hands. A spray of black ichor streaked her visor. She swiped her fingers through it and kept running. The walkway turned abruptly into a narrow corridor. Fluorescent orange tubes cast shadows that spooked her.

 **I'm scanning for anything that could help us** , the Ghost assured her. **Weapons, ships, Guardians — anything! Keep going!**

Shouts rang out behind her. The Fallen spoke no language she understood, but their murderous intent was clear. The way forward was one twisting hall. No other route branched out and forced her to choose. Was she heading into a trap?

 **Careful! Ahead of you!**

Almost as soon as the Ghost spoke, one of the four-armed Fallen barreled into the hall ahead of her. It raised all arms and spat at her in its hissing tongue, shaking its helm from side to side. One of its hands pushed back the bloody red cloak that hung from its shoulders, revealing a string of cracked human skulls bound to its hip. The Fallen hit the ground before she could pull the trigger. Impossibly fast, it scrambled toward her, four clawed hands pulling it along the floor, powerful legs launching it forward. She raised the rifle sideways, steeling herself for the blow as the Fallen bounded up into the air. It slammed into her and she was knocked flat on her back. Her helmet bounced against the dirty concrete floor. Sparks exploded in her vision. She gasped for breath, the oxygen hissing and clicking in her mask. The Fallen bore down on her, a crushing weight. It crouched over her with a clawed foot planted on her rifle, pinning the gun to her chest. It reached for two swords hanging at its waist. She lashed out with her feet, twisting and kicking. The creature roared and tried to grab her leg. It was enough to let her move the rifle. She fired blindly up at her assailant. Bullets thumped into its armor, sending it reeling. She sat up and ducked forward just as a sword hummed by with enough force to remove her head from her neck. She kicked out again as the creature swung the second sword, smashing its forearm and deflecting the swing. She barely scrambled to her feet before it swung again, a third hand reaching for her rifle. There were too many arms to watch! She squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened except an ominous click. The Fallen paused, swords held ready. It cocked its head at the sound of the empty rifle. She began to back away. The Fallen advanced, whispering taunts, one sword beckoning her forward. There was nowhere to run. More of these killers had to be coming behind her.

 **I've synthesized some ammo for you! Your belt! Check your belt!**

She groped at her right hip. Nothing. At her left, her fingers closed on a pouch and a cartridge inside. Never taking her eyes off the Fallen before her, she loosed the spent cartridge in the rifle and jammed the fresh one into place. The creature snarled and lunged. She dove for its knees. They tumbled over each other in a blur of limbs. She cried out as the edge of a sword slashed her below the knee. Twisting around, she fired at the creature's back, shifting to the back of its neck, sweeping down to its legs. Gas poured from its face mask.

 **You're clear! Go! Go!**

She launched herself down the hallway. Her shin stung viciously, blood was slowly wetting the fabric under her armor. The blade had been ferociously sharp to cut through the tough fabric. She pressed forward, sucking in the oxygen fed through her mask. Her every cell felt on fire, charged by the pounding of her heart and her feet on the ground. The hallway ended in another large room. She slowed her run and went into a ready crouch, peering through the doorway. Heavy swaths of red cloth hung from the high ceiling, drooping down so low she could almost touch them with the rifle barrel. Most were marked with a symmetrical white symbol. She thought she had seen that very same symbol on a Fallen cloak.

 **We're almost on the other side of the wall.**

The Ghost sounded hopeful. She tensed, checking the corners of the room. Could anyone else hear that voice when it spoke to her? Broken, abandoned equipment littered the room, some of it large enough for hiding behind. She took a tentative step through the door. A growl was her only warning. One of the two-armed Fallen darted from behind a battered metal crate. The electric burst from its pistol clipped her waist and she screamed in pain. The rifle dispatched it quickly. Two more came running from her left. It seemed they had nothing to lose, but they died like the first. She stepped over their bodies. The two-arms were not really that way, she realized. Stumps promising to be new limbs grew from their backs, tipped with poorly-fitting seals. They had less armor and smaller weapons than the four-arms. Perhaps those were their leaders. The one with the swords had certainly been a formidable opponent, stronger and quicker.

She made her way to the other side of the room, spinning a slow circle, watching all points. To her right, something rose from the tiered floor. A mechanical flier, squat and oblong and much larger than the little Ghost, hovered at her shoulder height. It regarded her with a cluster of yellow lights, humming and clicking.

 **That's Fallen technology!** the Ghost warned. **Watch out!**

A little turret on its underside rotated in her direction. She didn't wait to find out what would happen. She squeezed the trigger and the contraption fell out of the air in a shower of sparks. It clanged to the ground, bouncing and rolling into the shadows. A moment later, a small explosion rent the air. Whatever it was, it had died violently.

She swept out of the room. Water splashed around her boots. An enormous fan turned a grinding circle at the end of the way, cutting shadows in fading sunlight. Moss and clinging vegetation hung thick on rounded walls. It was not so much a room she had emerged into as an access tunnel. Bits of muck and plastic flowed by, caught in drainwater. Her blood made a bright red plume in the stream.

 **There's an opening just ahead.**

She picked her way quietly, choosing footsteps in the carpet of moss and sediments. Water ran from the ceiling, loud in the echoing concrete tunnel. Perhaps she could lose those vicious creatures for good. True to the Ghost's word, an arched doorway appeared on her right. Beyond it, the open air. They had left the wall.

The sun was below the horizon now, daylight fading rapidly. The first evening stars winked overhead. The air had turned even colder, the breeze cutting enough to make her shiver under her skintight suit. It whistled around the broken buildings and away into a yawning gulf to her left. The climb down that chasm would certainly be treacherous, especially in the gathering night. Better to stick to the shadows of the buildings beyond.

 **I think I'm getting something,** the Ghost chirped. Its voice was subdued, as though the darkness had finally convinced it to whisper. **Yes! There's a ship —!**

 _Crack!_

A fluorescent red streak shot up into the sky. She tracked its flight with her rifle until it popped in a brilliant flash. The light fizzled out. She scanned the ground ahead, straining to see where it had come from. Her shoulders prickled. She should keep moving…

An enormous booming clap split her ears and reverberated among the derelict buildings. The earth rumbled in answer. She hit the snowy ground in an instinctive roll, flinging herself out of harm's way, though what that harm was she couldn't imagine. Something massive flew through the twilight. No, it didn't fly — it rippled. A gigantic airship was simply unveiling above her. It wasn't alone. Three more ships were flanking it, settling into formation over the complex. She gaped, the rifle twitching between each hull.

 **Fallen ships?** the Ghost buzzed and clicked. Its tone was pure alarm. **This close to the surface?!**

Those things had airships? That couldn't be good.

 **Run!**

Barely had she heard the word and she was bolting forward, sprinting over the ground as fast as she could. Crumbling architecture loomed up to trip her. Rocks and stumps appeared out of nowhere. She dodged nimbly around some, hurtled over others, flying with single minded purpose. Whatever frightened that little Ghost so badly was not something she wanted to stick around and greet.

 _I have come from death_ , she thought, her first clear thought since the Ghost had woken her. _What is there to be afraid of?_ The startling idea made her falter. The Ghost took it for hesitation about which way to run.

 **Go left! To that loading dock!**

The roaring ships circled with amazing speed, hooking around in the air in blazing, rapid descent. One, its red bay opened wide like a howling mouth, bore down upon the clearing she tore across. Its thunder grew so intense she felt her guts shake. For a few glorious instants, she thought it might actually land on her, that she wouldn't make it to safety in time. She cried out, roaring in triumph, leaping into the welcoming cover of the loading dock. Heat from the ship's thrusters chased her inside. She crashed and rolled. Her shoulder ground and popped out of socket while she flipped belly over back and slid to a stop upside down against the wall. Not the smoothest landing.

 _As compared to what other landings?_

She wheezed, the best she could do for a laugh at the moment. At once the Ghost was floating over her. Its bright eye glowed in the shadows.

 **I can fix this! Hang on!**

Cool streams of light shot from it to her arm. The throb in her shoulder immediately quelled to a dull ache. At the same time, the joint wrenched itself back into place, as though the socket had just grabbed the bone and forced it to return. She struggled upright and rolled her shoulder back and forth. Her leg felt substantially better too.

She shook with breathless giggles.

 **What?** the Ghost trilled. **What's so funny?**

She couldn't answer that.

Shrill howls made both of them turn and look out of the loading bay door. Lights from the low-hanging ships silhouetted Fallen dropping to the ground below them. Her laughter dissolved. The Ghost disappeared again. It was time to move. She bolted deeper into the dock. Another maze of corridors.

She willed her passage to be silent through the cluttered halls. Her newly forged body complied, slipping nimbly through the shadows. More neon rods illuminated corners choked with cobwebs. Not enough light to give her much warning of what was ahead, only to make sure she didn't stumble into the carcasses of containers and strange equipment strewn about. Wires and cables and broken glass littered every surface.

 **There is a ship ahead!** The Ghost was ecstatic, its gleeful voice filling her head. **It's very close. We're almost there!**

She skidded to a stop at the doorway to a small anteroom leading into a warehouse space. More lamps pointed at instrument panels and cracked black monitors. Their thick dirt coats were marred by clawmarks. Fallen had been here. She readied her rifle, checking the corners, straining to hear a growl or a breath.

 **I'm picking up Fallen signatures ahead** , the Ghost said. **They're probably guarding that ship. We'll have to cut through them to get to it. It's our only way out of here to the City. I…I don't know what else to do! We're a long ways from home.** It sounded miserable.

She only hesitated a moment more before stepping through the doorway. She didn't know what this far away home was, but she decided she wanted to find out. It had to be better than this place. Most of the warehouse's roof had torn away. Sere grass sprouted freely through broken floor plating. Drifts of dirty snow mounded in corners. Underneath that large hole, an airship rested on a nest of cables. It wasn't very large — perhaps about the size of three of those vehicles she'd awoken beside put together — and its hull was pocked with dents and scratches. The paint had dulled to an indeterminate color. It was an ugly, old thing, barely recognizable as something that could fly. Two round engines and a spindly neck marked front from back.

 **The ship!** the Ghost trilled.

Right below it squatted one of the four-armed Fallen. It gazed intently into the morass of wiring under the ship's belly, unaware of her approach. The only warning it had was the bark of her rifle.

From her left, a sizzling report. Bursts of light spiraled her direction. She hit the ground just before they reached her, crackling overhead. A second four-armed Fallen stepped from behind a pillar. Without a thought, she picked up a chunk of broken concrete and hurled it. The creature growled and dodged, the missile clipping its lower arm. She heard scraping from the ship. Another Fallen, climbing spider-like down its slippery surface while its two free arms readied swords. It hurled itself off the ship, dying at her feet in a spray of bullets. The Fallen with the wounded arm was next to go.

The smaller Fallen darted in to see the commotion. Most of them fell in seconds to her rifle. Others had enough sense to get out of the way of her deadly assault, wisely seeking cover. Something launched through the air in a bright, sizzling arc and landed with a thump at her feet. She darted backward as it discharged an electrical pulse of light that made her helm screech. More of those light bursts flew through the air. They were bullets of some sort, but they did not behave like any bullet she had. They snaked across the room, humming with power. No matter where she moved, they trained to her. One searing blast caught her right arm, burning through to her skin.

A deafening roar immediately took her mind off the pain. This was not like the shrill screams that had filled her ears since her awakening. The sound ripped through the room, terrifying in its intensity.

 **Captain! It's a Captain!**

She didn't need to ask the Ghost what a Captain was. The enormous, armored mass barreling toward her was everything she needed to know. Four-armed, two swords in one pair of hands and the other two tipped with clawed gauntlets, the Captain was the largest Fallen yet. A long red cloak streamed behind it, that white symbol emblazoned on the ragged cloth. She had just enough presence to dodge the Captain's first sword thrust. The long blade whistled through the air. Another dodge saved her from complete evisceration.

The Captain taunted her. Its deep voice spat its incomprehensible threats through a heavy facemask. Its gaze was green fire. It swung the swords in dizzyingly fast strikes. The only thing she could do was leap and dodge, away from the ship, back to where she had come from. In the midst of her terror, giddy exhilaration swelled again. She was untouchable. The Captain wailed in anger every time it missed her, and she leapt again and again, reaching impossible heights. One misplaced step was the end of her flight. Her ankle turned. She shrieked in pain and hit the wall behind her. The Captain simply disappeared — and reappeared directly before her, closing the gap between them in the time it took her to blink. Its fist thundered against the ancient metal wall, inches from her cheek, leaving a massive dent. The same thing was going to happen to her skull — if the swords didn't gut her first.

The rifle bucked in her nerveless hands and went still. Out of bullets. Each one had bounced harmlessly off of the Captain's thick, scarred armor. The Captain growled, throaty and triumphant. It raised both swords overhead, scraping the blades together. Hot sparks rained down on her in a crackling shower. She reached for her belt. The Captain's lower hand shot out and slammed against her throat, gripping her entire neck in an implacable fist. Bright spots flared in her vision. With a flick of another wrist, it casually disarmed her.

She clawed at its massive hand. Beneath the helm she struggled to breathe, her uneven gasps whistling through the respirator. The Captain lifted her clear off the ground.

 **No! No, no, no! Not when I've just found you!**

The Ghost was frantic in her mind. She tried to kick out. She may as well have had rocks tied to her feet. She could hardly move. The Captain growled again. She was certain it was a laugh.

That strange parting sensation washed over her, and a bright spark appeared next to the Captain's head. It flitted and buzzed, weaving in front of the Captain's blunt face. The Ghost! The Captain snarled and lashed out with the swords. The Ghost stayed one beat ahead. Whether it thought the Ghost was an actual threat or was just greedy to kill it, the distracted Captain released the deadly grip on her throat.

She fell to the ground, choking for breath. A Fallen sword lay inches from her hand, still sparking with electricity. Her fingers closed on the hilt. With the last of her strength, she swept the blade up between the plates of armor on the Captain's muscular leg. The sword tip sliced through the creature's groin and lodged against bone. The Captain howled, dropping both swords, falling to hands and knees in agony. The smell of charred flesh filled her helm. She wrenched the sword free and laid open the Captain's throat. Its snarls ended in a scream of escaping black gas. The sword slipped out of her grasp. She fell, landing on the massive corpse. Her eyes closed.

Silence.

Numbing, healing cold touched her arm, then her ankle.

 **You did it!** The Ghost was ecstatic. **You beat the Captain! The ship is ours now!**

Another cool tendril probed her throat.

 **Come on, don't give up on me!**

She breathed in greedy gasps. Trembling, she pushed herself off of the Captain's body. Her ankle ached but did not give out when she tested her weight against it. Her bleeding arm only oozed now. Bodies littered the ground around her. All was still and quiet save for the Ghost's little spinning fins and the moaning wind.

 **I'll get to work on the ship!**

The Ghost sped off toward the ship at such a speed it should have smashed into pieces against the hull. At the last second, it merely passed through the metal in shining filaments. She glanced over her shoulder. She couldn't hear any Fallen coming. That didn't mean they wouldn't. She turned her attention back to the ship. It looked as broken as she felt, rusting in its perch, tangled in wires. Hardly a passage to safety.

"Will it fly?" she asked. Her creaking voice barely triggered the comm speakers in her helm. The sound of her own voice surprised her. Talking. How long had it been?

 **I can get it running** , the Ghost said, somewhere inside the ship. **We won't break orbit, but it's enough to get us to the City. That's all we need!**

Loud scraping startled her, coming from the wall to her left. She flinched, body tensing, ready to lash out.

About twice her height above the ground, a round tunnel bore through the warehouse wall. From it, a three-fingered hand, larger even than the Captain's, stuck out and scratched the weathered cement. A massive helmed head, bearded with respiration tubes and crowned with sleek horns, followed. Then another hand, and two more. The creature that unfurled itself and dropped to the ground dwarfed the defeated Captain, standing at least twice its height and double its mass. Its helm's gleaming red eyes burned with demanded authority. It squared its fur-clad shoulders and pointed a long, clawed finger at her. It spoke, and she knew its judgment was damning.

Her determined growl could have been a sob.

 **An** ** _Archon_** **?** The Ghost gasped in disbelief.

Behind her, the ship coughed and roared to life. The engines chugged, sluggish at first, then spooling up with a whine.

She reached for the sword beside the dead Captain's body. She never got the chance to grab it. Blazing light filled her vision. For a moment she was weightless — no, she was gone, she was splitting apart! — and then she was sitting inside the derelict ship, looking out the filthy cockpit window at the top of her challenger's head. The Ghost hovered over a glowing control bank.

The bellow from the enormous Fallen made the dead Captain's sound like a helpless mewl. The ship lurched up — and abruptly stopped.

 **What the —?! Oh, no! I forgot to unlock the docking cables!** The Ghost sent a pulse of light sweeping over the console. Sorry! Sorry! I've got this!

The Archon took a step forward, reaching toward the ship as if it intended to pluck it out of the air.

"It's coming!" she breathed. She was certain it could see her through the grimy glass. Another roar rattled the cockpit.

 **We're free!**

The ship's engines flared to life, drowning out the Archon's defiance. Again the ship lurched upward, its momentum no longer slowed by any cables. It passed through the hole in the warehouse ceiling with a few grinding squeals. Brilliant moonlight flooded the cockpit. The Archon fell away, dwindling as they rose higher and higher. The speed of the ascent pressed down on her. She clawed at the clasps to her helmet and ripped it off just in time to gag into her lap.

 **Oh, whoops! I guess we're taking it a little fast…**

The ship slowed, the frame rattling. She took a shaky breath. The taste in her mouth almost made her sick again. The little Ghost glanced at the spittle on her legs.

 **That's okay** , it chirped. **There isn't a Guardian alive who hasn't revisited their lunch over a mission. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise!**

She scrubbed her mouth with the back of her gloved hand and stared out the cockpit window. Their ship was passing through silvered clouds, skimming above them into the clear, starry sky. They had done it. They had escaped.

Her constant companion hovered closer and closer. It would not stop staring at her.

 **I'll have Jana take a look at you once we get to the Tower** , it said in a rush. **Once my Light is replenished, I'll be able to take care of any aches and pains you'll ever have. Are you hungry? I bet you're hungry! New Guardians are always hungry. I can show you where to get food — I'll show you everything! You just relax. We'll be there —** it cut off when she reached out and touched the tip of one little fin. It did not shy away, just wriggled and blinked at her.

She smiled at the Ghost, feeling surreal.

"What's your name?" she asked.

 **My name? I'm a Ghost. I don't have a name.**

"What should I call you?" she persisted.

 **Uh…Ghost? Well, I suppose you could give me a name** , it amended.

"Me?"

 **It's traditional** , it said shyly, fins drawing in. It was a strangely emotive little creature.

"What is my name?"

 **I don't know.**

Disappointment silenced her.

 **I'll call you whatever you wish** , Ghost said, sensing her discomfort. **Whatever name you think of can be yours. Sometimes other Guardians name each other, but who knows what you'd get stuck with!**

"I'm a Guardian?" she asked.

 **Yes! And I'm your Ghost!** That fact seemed to please it immensely.

"What's a Guardian?"

 **That's a long story. Suffice it to say, Guardians are our hope against the Darkness.**

"The Darkness…?"

 **Our ancient enemy.**

"You mean those Fallen?" She struggled to understand.

 **They're certainly Dark-ridden!** Ghost buzzed. **I hope they're the worst we ever have to deal with. The Darkness takes many forms.**

"Why was I in that place?" she asked. Frustratingly enough, she realized she didn't even know where they had just escaped from.

 **The Cosmodrome? I…well…I don't know that either** , Ghost faltered. **That was where you died.**

She stared. She knew she was hearing correctly, but what it said made no sense. How could she have been dead?

 **I brought you back** , Ghost said, all fond patience. **Ghosts must find a Guardian among the dead. We're tied together, you see?**

She closed her eyes against a wave of fatigue. Ghost came in close. It started washing light all over her, clicking to itself.

 **Don't worry about anything right now** , it said gently. **Just rest. We're safe up here.**

"Is the Tower very far away?" she asked. Wasn't that where Ghost wanted to take her?

 **A few hours at this speed. I would push the engines a little more, but I think we'd better go easy on this old thing. It's too bad we don't have an NLS drive!**

She had no idea what it was talking about, except when it came to treating the ship gently. It still rattled ominously. She closed her eyes again. Here in the musty cockpit, suddenly whisked from danger, she was exhausted. If she were to go to sleep now, would she wake to something else even more bizarre? Would she wake entirely, and find this all a dream? The complete absence of memory, of any shred of context to her situation, made her feel sick all over again. This couldn't be real. She couldn't have come back from the dead.

The dead were dead, and nothing changed that.

Maybe someone at this Tower would recognize her. There had to be someone who knew who she was. There had to be friends or family waiting for her to return. She drifted off to sleep, comforted by that thought, lulled by the ship's droning engines.

Surely she wasn't alone.


	2. Trance

Warlock Mentor Shenu opened his eyes precisely twenty minutes into his meditation. He felt the passage of time as surely as he could feel his own breath, without ever consulting his Ghost or looking at the small wall clock in his quarters. Each second that ticked by was a space for him to occupy and observe, each minute a small stage for his mind to focus upon.

"Vitals report, Ushabti."

His Ghost promptly appeared. Its spiny, deep blue shell glinted in the light of a single candle set on a low table. The flickering flame set off the jagged scar running from the back of Ushabti's ocular case all the way to where its iris began. It blinked at him through a hazy cataract.

 **Heart rate down three percent from your previous session** , Ushabti's soft voice recited dutifully. **Oxygen saturation remained steady at approximately fifty percent normal capacity. Body temperature dropped to thirty-one point one degrees Celsius and was sustained within a tenth of a degree for the duration of the exercise. Brain-wave pattern consistent with pre-Dive parameters.**

Shenu smiled. None of this was a surprise, though he was still glad to hear it. He had willed every single one of those changes into being. The only thing that pleased him more was that he had been able to affect these changes nearly five minutes quicker than his attempts a week ago.

"Very good. Log that, and pull up my appointments for today."

Ushabti clicked and chirped in compliance. It was unnecessary to tell the Ghost to record these meditation sessions — Ushabti had its routine just as he did — but Shenu felt it bore reminding. He would not permit carelessness in training for himself, and he would not permit it in his Ghost. They were not perfect machines incapable of error. Ghosts were as fallible as their Guardians. Perhaps more so, he believed, given the limitations of their inorganic cortices and their inability to bend the Light to their will to the extent that a Guardian could.

Shenu blew out the candle and stood from his zafu, allowing himself a luxurious stretch.

 **Session logged** , Ushabti announced. **Today you have a meeting with New Monarchy representative Chancellor Thompson at oh-nine-hundred hours. Warlock intra-Order hearings will meet at eleven-hundred hours. You have also scheduled a training session with Guardian Zinnia at fourteen-hundred hours.**

Shenu smoothed the front of his black silk robe and sighed. Training with Zinnia. What excuses would she have for him this time about her carelessness and her inability — no, her willful refusal! — to learn? He strode to the kitchen nook. Ushabti already had a pot of tea waiting on the counter. The Ghost moved after him, a silent shadow. Almost silent. Those twitchy fins could be very loud, especially in the midst of a Dive preparation.

 **If you are still planning on meeting with the City Museum curator this evening, I have been advised that there is a charity benefit ball being held at nineteen-hundred hours.**

Shenu paused in pouring out a cup of tea from the little ceramic pot. He gave his Ghost a hard look.

"A charity ball? When were you planning on telling me this? I can't possibly be down to the City before then!"

Ushabti's fins drooped momentarily before the Ghost remembered to compose itself.

 **I am sorry, Guardian. I was only informed ten minutes ago. I did not want to interrupt your meditation.**

Shenu resumed pouring his tea. He inhaled the delicate scent on the steam and made an effort to relax his already tight shoulders. The Light save him, the serenity of meditation did not last long! He took a cautious sip. At least the tea was properly brewed this time. Ushabti had finally learned the correct proportions for this new blend from the Western provinces.

He decided he would refrain from chastising his Ghost about the scheduling conflict. Unlike the tea preparation, Ushabti couldn't help this. It was that cringing curator whom he should be upset with. That obsequious little boot licker! He'd spent the entire afternoon yesterday bowing and scraping and parroting "yes, Guardian!" to Shenu's every request — including his request to peruse the new requisitions this very evening! And now he had scheduled a charity ball? Either the man was an idiot who couldn't keep a simple schedule, or he was banking on getting patrons to flock to the museum in the hopes of catching sight of a Guardian. Well, he was no artifact to be put on display!

"Send a message to the curator that I will not be able to keep our meeting. Nor will I attend his little party."

 **Yes, Guardian. Shall I request a rescheduling?**

Shenu shook his head.

"No. If he gets nervous thinking I'll never return, so be it. Maybe then he'll learn not to waste my time!"

Ushabti clicked and buzzed, working on the order. Shenu moved to the tall sitting room windows.

His quarters were smaller than those of most Guardians of his senior status, even though he'd had his pick of rooms. He opened the shades with the press of a button and brilliant morning light flooded the room. The City stretched out below him, bounded by the harbor curling around the northwestern edge and the mountains to the east. Airships crossed paths in a sky daubed with high trailing clouds. Buses and trains and private automobiles crawled along the choked warren of streets or zipped down the express toll arteries. Above it all hung the Traveler, glowing delicate pink and blinding white where it was not scarred and broken.

Guardians and civilians alike had been surprised at his choice of rooms when he had last elected to move. His view of the Gap had been unparalleled save for a very few other accommodations in the Tower. But it was what he beheld now that had sold him on this space. Every morning he could look out at the Traveler and the City and remind himself what exactly he was guarding.

Not that those imbeciles down below paid it any thought. No, the people of the City rushed about their days, hurrying from one place to the next, convinced of their important work. Maybe one or two glanced up to the Tower from time to time, their eye probably caught by a transport docking or a Guardian flying a little too hot out of the hangar — probably a Hunter! — and muttered to themselves about the coziness of Tower life. They would stand at noisy street corners waiting to cross, or jam aboard the overcrowded mag-trains to get to their foundries and marketplaces and office highrises, thinking jealously of an airship of their own or a Ghost to transmat them from place to place. The ones at the charity ball tonight would probably sneer behind their wine glasses at the glimmer he could produce to purchase any interesting artifacts, despite their own coffers being filled by meaningless labor. Real estate tycooning or sitting on a foundry board. Never mind that his glimmer had been hard won, pried from the claws of the Fallen the people dreaded so much or rewarded from repelling an assault those stupid cattle would never hear about and thus would never believe had actually happened…!

Shenu turned his attention back to the Traveler and fought to clear his mind. It was hard not to get carried away this morning. His sleep had been less than restful, full of half-formed dreams that he unaccustomedly couldn't remember. He would have to be vigilant about maintaining calmness and clarity today, especially around the Chancellor. Not to mention in his training with Zinnia. That little Warlock could make even the Speaker himself see double!

"Lay out the sapphire trimmed vestments," Shenu called to Ushabti. "I'll hear a daily report when I finish with my shower." He considered a moment. "And compile a list of all treatises on the Void in my library. Summarize them for Guardian Zinnia's perusal."

 **As you wish, Guardian**. Ushabti zipped over to the small desktop console that Shenu used to interface with his personal archives.

His bathroom was small and tidy, every object and shade of paint picked to produce a feeling of cleanliness and peace. A couple of button presses later, and the pre-programmed shower settings were running, water pressure and temperature exactly how he pleased. There had been some grumblings around the Tower lately that heat settings should be placed lower and that showers time be reduced in order to conserve energy, but Shenu could see no point in rushing hygiene or making it unbearable. How could a Guardian meet the day with dignity if they were shocked with cold water and forced to scrub away in a race against the clock? Besides, he was no Newly Reborn, still stupefied and in need of strict supervision. If he wanted a hot shower, the Vanguard would have to come in and turn the tap off themselves. A few luxuries could be afforded. Discipline came from an ordered mind, not from arbitrary rules!

Shenu stripped off his silk robe and hung it on the back of the door. The Light be praised, he hoped he didn't look as tired as he felt! He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin and then through his short black hair that was only just beginning to show hints of white at his temples. It was nearly time to get another trim. He wouldn't sport these ridiculous long hairstyles that some of the younger Guardians were flaunting. Perhaps if they spent as much time on their work as they did on their fashion the Darkness wouldn't be pressing in so damned close! Even the Warlocks these days were practically indistinguishable from the Hunters in their vanity!

The hot water was a blessed relief from the morning's irritations, though it still irked him that he couldn't remember his dreams. Dreams were so simple compared to a Thanatonaut Dive. He had been recounting his dreams, if not lucid dreaming, for years! Why in the Light couldn't he remember more than just a few jumbled images and sensations lately? He let the hot water stream over him and strove to clear a space in his mind to let the memories form again. Every picture, every impression, could be a vital clue to the Before. He mustn't waste an opportunity to remember.

It was no use.

Well, perhaps he could do better if he could get a night of decent, uninterrupted sleep in the first place! Lately Ushabti had taken to getting up in the middle of the night. The Ghost no doubt thought it was being quiet, but it knew Shenu was a light sleeper. Usually Ushabti was just reading from his library. He'd found Cryptarchy missives, famous City-Age novels, and even ancient Shakespeare bookmarked on the console. But last night he could have sworn Ushabti had the vidscreen on, of all things! What the Ghost wanted to watch was beyond him. The set was hardly used to begin with.

He would have to have a talk with his Ghost. Waking him up by bustling about the library was bad enough, but if Ushabti was also not getting the Rest it needed then there could be serious consequences for them both.

After drying off from the shower, Shenu set about shaving with soap and water. There were far more efficient methods, but he rather liked the simple razor on his skin and the attention to detail it demanded. Attention in all things. Awareness. Presence. Ushabti hovered in the open doorway, blinking when its ocular face fogged up from the humid bathroom. The Ghost read out the City's morning news as usual, gleaned from the broadcasting networks and the local circulars. Most of it was utterly uninteresting. Shenu only bothered to hear it on the off-chance that there might be something worth knowing. He suspected Ushabti rather liked the task. It was always so curious about the goings on of the City.

Distractions, more like it. But would Ushabti listen to him? Of course not. How in the Light did a Ghost get to be Ushabti's age and still be so ridiculous?

Shenu cocked an ear to an updated report on Hakke's recent mine accident. The foundry's largest holding had been hit a few days ago by Fallen, just after clearing routine inspections. Updates on the relief effort qualified as something worth knowing for his impending meeting with Chancellor Thompson. He pressed Ushabti on any further details. Of course Ushabti knew nothing that the City news couldn't tell it. What on earth was the point of having a Ghost when no truly useful knowledge could be gained from it? Shenu gripped the razor's abalone handle a little tighter than necessary as he listened to Ushabti prattle on about what it thought might be happening. Speculation! What a waste! The Traveler intervene, how the Ghost could talk!

"I'm not interested in opinions, Ushabti," Shenu grumbled. "I want facts. If you don't know anything, simply say so. I'm a bit tired this morning."

Ushabti fell silent a moment, suitably chastised.

 **Are you having trouble sleeping again?** Its tone was quite anxious. Anxiety for him, or because it knew it was falling out of good graces for being the cause of his insomnia? **Perhaps you should consult with Jana. I could make an appointment for you!**

"That's not necessary," Shenu muttered. Him, consult with Jana? That would be about as effective as asking the Tower cook to craft him a pulse rifle!

 **But if you're having difficulty…** Ushabti persisted.

"I am not going to see that woman," Shenu growled. "There's nothing she can do for me. Would you have me chewing on some sleeping pills?" It was humiliating enough to have to submit to her poking and prodding during her mandatory, once-a-year "physicals". What could a civilian doctor know about Guardian physiology? Why in the Light did the Vanguard ever agree to such a ridiculous routine?

"I'll leave it to you to alert me if my vitals fall below optimal ranges," Shenu said. "Otherwise, kindly stop pestering me!"

 **Yes, Guardian.**

Oh, that Ghost was a handful.

He took a calming breath and concentrated on his shaving, running the razor under his jawline. Ushabti eventually forgot its upset and began watching him with that gross curiosity that all Ghosts displayed. In their long association, it had never lost its wonderment at the most mundane tasks he performed. How simple it must be to be a Ghost! Shenu thought. Under the care of their Guardians, they only needed to listen and obey and all would be taken care of. They were not unlike the children that ran around the Tower. Except that Ghosts paired with Guardians rarely roamed alone. Shenu wouldn't mind seeing the children more closely watched as well — or removed from the Tower altogether. It was no place for their games! He'd scared the Light out of one boy the other day. The child had been playing ball in the North Tower, waiting for his mother to finish business with the New Monarchy or some such, and he had lost control of his toy. It had gone bouncing and sailing right into Shenu's face. He was sure the boy wasn't going to forget the look he'd been given any time soon. Undisciplined brat. Which reminded him…

"Perhaps I would sleep better if you weren't sneaking around at night," Shenu said as he rinsed the razor and tapped it against the sink.

 **Oh!** Ushabti chirped. **I'm sorry. Um, I didn't mean to disturb you.** Ushabti certainly could sound apologetic when needed. Right now it sounded an awful lot like that damned curator.

"What in the Light were you doing?" Shenu demanded, patting his face with a damp cloth. He reached for the little bottle of aftershave.

 **Um…it was nothing important.**

"That's not what I asked."

Ushabti's fins spun, a particular tic for his Ghost when it was hedging.

 **I…I just wanted to see that vidscreen program that Guardian Zinnia was talking about** , Ushabti admitted.

The aftershave stung on a nick Shenu hadn't noticed. The pain added to his annoyance.

"What show? What are you talking about?" he snapped.

 **Um…the one she mentioned when she left her last lesson** , Ushabti chirped.

It was beginning to stammer again. Light, didn't it know how stupid it sounded when it spoke like that? Completely undignified. Like a sullen child!

 **You know…that drama about the Tower? It sounded interesting.**

Shenu pulled a face in the mirror and turned to stare at his Ghost.

"Do you mean that ridiculous show about Guardians?" he demanded.

 ** _Guardians_** **, yes! That's what it's called!** Ushabti blinked back at him, fins still twitching. Now it was really nervous. It knew Shenu did not approve of that show.

"Of all the things to waste your time on!" Shenu shook his head. "Why would you bother with that drivel?" He pushed past his Ghost, not waiting for an answer, and stalked to the bedroom. The vestments he had ordered were laid out neatly on the crisply-made bed. Ushabti trailed behind, peering into the room from the doorway.

 **It's certainly not an accurate portrayal of Tower life** , Ushabti said slowly, **but…um… I thought it was kind of interesting to see how the City thinks of us. Guardian Zinnia says it makes her laugh.**

" _Everything_ makes Zinnia laugh." Shenu snorted. "Besides, what do you care what the City thinks of us? That stupid show just proves they don't bother to get their facts right!" He began to dress himself, first in the finely woven linen undershirts and trousers and then moving on to the more elaborate vestments. Being on mentorship duty at home was a good deal more comfortable than beng on patrol. The casual vestments were much more pleasant than stiff, unforgiving fieldweave and armor.

Ushabti clicked thoughtfully.

 **I don't know…I think it's not so much poor research as it is, um, artistic license.**

Artistic license? Where did Ushabti come up with these things? Perhaps it ought to get a diagnostics test. The Ghost was getting more foolish by the year.

"Supposing that's so — and I still say it's merely laziness — what about our existence is so dull that they feel the need to take _artistic license_?"

 **They just don't know how we really live** , Ushabti persisted. **We, um…we aren't exactly very forthcoming.**

"And why should we be?" Shenu grunted, tying the inner wrap of his vestment and moving to the ornate silvered belt. "It's none of their concern how we go about our business, only that we do our jobs."

 **I suppose** , Ushabti sighed.

"I didn't hear any of this conversation about television shows," Shenu said pointedly, fixing his Ghost with another look. Ushabti pretended to be very interested in the door frame.

 **It was, um, while you were looking over the manuscript. I was…I was showing Guardian Zinnia out of the study when, um, she happened to mention it.**

"You ought to discourage her from such stupid wastes of time," Shenu reprimanded. "She was supposed to be reflecting on her lessons, not gabbing about pastimes! For the love of the Light, it's no wonder she can't focus!"

Ushabti's fins drooped. This wasn't the first time he'd had to lecture his Ghost on not supporting his Novice's bad habits. The little wretch had a strange fascination with that girl. He supposed he could just chalk it up to interest in her great potential and the fact that Shenu was her appointed mentor. But lately it seemed that in every conversation they had Ushabti would mention Zinnia's name or something she had done, or inquire about some interest of hers. It was all really going too far now, what with the Ghost sneaking around at night watching that abomination of a show!

Zinnia herself wasn't helping matters. She spoiled Ushabti, constantly asking its opinion and engaging it in small talk. Once, he even saw her stroke Ushabti's fins. Ushabti had practically purred with delight, as if it were some sort of slavish pet! Shenu couldn't do much but frown about Zinnia coddling her own Ghost, but he didn't want the same treatment for Ushabti. Clearly, the attention was going to its circuitry.

"I need your help to keep Zinnia focused," Shenu told his Ghost sternly. "I need to know you're in this with me." He could outright forbid watching the vidscreen. But then Ushabti would probably just sulk and be even more frustrating.

 **I am! Of course I am!**

"Oh? That's good to hear," Shenu sighed, checking himself over in the full length mirror. "Lately I've begun to think you'd rather be someone else's Ghost."

Ushabti trilled in alarm.

 **You don't mean that! You know it's not true!**

Ushabti quivered, the very picture of penitence. No doubt, upon seeing this pathetic display, Zinnia would have taken the Ghost in hand and cuddled it! Shenu would not do anything of the sort. Ushabti had done wrong, and it didn't deserve any cosseting for hurt feelings.

"Then see that you don't encourage her away from her studies." He adjusted his sleeve cuffs, rolling them back and holding them in place with diamond studs. "And for Light's sake, be quiet at night!"

 **Yes, Guardian! I will!** Ushabti clicked promptly. It sounded sincere enough, but Shenu could still see the despondent cast to its fins. Just like a pouting little child. A centuries-old child!

Shenu checked his appearance one more time. All was well, except for looking a touch too tired. The vestments fit him well and lent a suitably distinguished, dignified look for Tower business. Some Guardians took being off the battlefield to mean that they could dress as slovenly as possible. They didn't realize there were battles of a different sort to be won at home.

The only thing lacking from his ensemble was his Bond. For that, he went to a carved mahogany box on the nightstand. Nestled in its red velvet interior was a shining ebony circlet.

"The time?" he prompted.

 **Oh-eight fifteen.**

He had been efficient despite his weariness. Perhaps he would head to the kitchens for a light breakfast. At this hour of the morning he should have the run of the place. Only a few dedicated early risers and Tower personnel coming off of their night shifts would be about. He wouldn't be forced into any unwanted conversations by any of them.

Shenu snapped the Bond around his left bicep. The circlet fitted together with a join so fine it was invisible. Of all the Bonds he had worn over the years — and there had been many — this one made him the proudest. He had crafted it himself, as a representation of his most advanced learning from the Thanatonauts and for a wonderful focus for his Dives. It wasn't as ornate as some of the absurd creations Warlocks sported on their sleeves these days. Still, he fancied it held its own grandeur in its stark simplicity and simple purpose.

Satisfied with his whole look, he turned from the mirror and strode back to the kitchen. Ushabti had already taken care of the leftover tea and pulled up the requested documents on his personal datapad, which was also set out waiting for him. Shenu took up the pad and glanced around his apartments for anything else he might need.

"Come, Ushabti."

Ushabti zipped to his side and went to Rest. Its duties were largely done for the day. Alas, his were just beginning.

The hallways in the residential wing were quiet, just how he liked them. Morning sunlight poured through the long glass windows. A lone service Frame was carefully wiping the panes of glass, working its way slowly down the hall. It stood up straight and made a curious whistle of acknowledgment as he passed. Shenu hardly gave it a glance. At least this one didn't speak. Some of the Tower Frames had taken to being quite chatty lately. It was ridiculous, especially because the damned things had no idea what they were talking about. Their proto-sentience could fool the rustic visitors and children who weren't used to seeing machinery so complex. They couldn't fool him.

Many Guardians liked to thank the Frames for their service, or say hello to them in return. He had seen a few uncomfortable stares in the past when he had refused to acknowledge them. People muttered that it was rude. As if he could hurt a Frame's feelings! What did the machine care if he was saying hello to it or not? It had its programming, and none of it required a pat on the back or a friendly greeting!

The people of the Tower were too used to the Ghosts, and were now giving all sorts of machines similar treatment. Ridiculous! And the the traits Guardians attributed to their Ghosts were often far fetched as well. That wasn't to say that he doubted their sentience — Ghosts were definitely self-aware, intelligent creatures. But the current focus on their feelings and wishes was getting out of hand. They had their functions like the Frames, and those functions were to serve Guardians. Their advanced intelligence was designed to facilitate interaction between the humanoids and Exos they paired with. Ghosts developed personalities and could exhibit emotional traits in order to smooth communication between their logic-wired cortices — though, Light be praised, Ushabti strained the definition of logic! — and a Guardian's human instincts. But these emotions were experienced much the same way a creature like a dog might feel them.

As such, Guardians like Zinnia who coddled an agitated Ghost like Ushabti were only performing the same kinds of mindless reinforcement as petting a frightened dog. The dog learned to be rewarded for being afraid. The Ghost learned to keep letting fear take hold of their circuitry. The same could be said for the way Guardians interacted with each other. The way some Guardians acted, they might as well suffer from the same limitations as their Ghosts! Constantly repeating the same tired mistakes, letting their hot heads get the better of them. Wasting time on ridiculous boasts and games…

The elevator called up to his floor was empty, so he rode in peace to his stop. Floor plans were haphazard at best in this Tower, mostly the result of a constant reshuffling to accommodate new Guardians and the loss of old ones. He could remember a time when the Tower had been clean and orderly in its arrangement, not the snarl it had become. There were few floors that made any sense at all now — armories and shooting ranges got lumped together with residences and studies more often than not — and it seemed to get worse by the day.

The cafeteria was a rare exception. It had remained where it stood near the top of the Tower for an Age. It was no small task to feed the army of Guardians and personnel who called the Tower their home, even if for most of them it was only home for a few days out of the month. Even discounting the Exos and the most ascetic of Warlocks, the kitchen staff had their hands full. They could not afford to be herded around in the constant rezoning.

Shenu couldn't argue with free food, but he could argue with the rather bland setting. The only thing to be said for the cafeteria was the incredible panoramic view from its ring of windows. The mess of tables and hodgepodge seating jarred the eye, along with the Ella's questionable taste in decor. The kitchen mistress had an absurd fondness for anything flowery pink. If he put more stock into eating, he might let the kitchsy surroundings get to him. However, like the Frames, the cafeteria served its purpose. If he wanted a cozy atmosphere for dining, there were quite a few delectable options down in the City below, tucked away like little gems in the finer districts. If one could bear the press of gawking civilians.

Shenu was pleased to see that his prediction of a light morning crowd was correct. A gaggle of Hangar crew clustered at a long table, heads bent over their food and speaking low, too tired from their overnight shifts to be very animated. A few Titans in full armor were taking breakfast at a much faster pace. No doubt they were on their way to a training exercise ordered by their Host, or perhaps to one of Shaxx's games. At one of the smaller tables, a Warlock and a Titan were engaged in a game of chess. Their half eaten pastries sat to the side of the battered old board. The Titan appeared to be winning.

A cook's apprentice, a young bleary-eyed girl of about fifteen, was picking up the remnants of a meal left behind at another table and trying to yawn inconspicuously into her starched uniform sleeve. Mistress Ella did not take kindly to any hint of sloth in her domain. Shenu could understand that. He often thought he could get along quite well with the cook, if she weren't such a chattering, sentimental old bird. He knew for a fact that she lavished Zinnia with special-made sweets and goodies.

Zinnia was not anywhere about that he could see. As averse as she was to early rising, he hadn't really expected to find her. Yet occasionally Master Rahool had her running some fool's errand or another early in the morning. The Warlock could not help herself but make a stop into the kitchens at all hours, and he had run into her a couple of times when she was supposed to be working her penances in the Archives.

The cook's apprentice nearly jumped out of her skin when he cleared his throat behind her. She turned around with a guilty look, no doubt thinking she had been caught dawdling by Ella. That look turned to wide-eyed attention when she saw who it really was.

"Guardian!" she squeaked. "What can I do for you?" She knocked over a glass and quickly righted it again.

"Fetch me a coffee and some toast," he instructed the girl. "Quickly."

She nodded enthusiastically and snatched up the slippery glass onto her tray with the rest of the dirty dishes. He hoped she would keep her hands clean when handling his meal.

"Of course! Right away!" She scuttled off in such a hurry that she nearly crashed straight into a Titan returning to his table with a plate of waffles. Fortunately for her, the Titan was Falstaff. The large, wildhaired man laughed and put a hand on the girl's shoulder to steady her.

"Pardon me!" he said, without a hint of condescension. His jolly voice boomed off the cafeteria walls. The girl smiled gratefully up at Falstaff and dropped a curtsy before continuing on her way. Falstaff glanced down the table to see what had sent her off so fast and caught Shenu's eye. The smile on his ruddy face only slipped a little. He gave a small nod. Shenu returned the acknowledgment with a nod of his own and Falstaff rejoined his table without coming over to speak to him. Good. Though Falstaff was one of the smarter Titans Shenu had ever dealt with, his remarkable voice and perpetual cheer were too much for this early hour. Besides, he had a bad habit of slapping people on the back when he talked. From a Titan like Falstaff, that was enough to send anyone off their balance.

Shenu settled himself at a small table set against the windows. The light was good for reading and the view helped distract from the ridiculous vases and pictures strewn about. He pulled out his datapad and perused the selection Ushabti had prepared for Zinnia's Void training.

Zinnia was proving a stubborn student. He'd already assigned half of these readings to her, but the girl just wasn't getting anywhere. She still clung firmly to Sol's Light despite weeks of careful coaching. It was enough to make him believe that she was actively opposing his teaching, or at the very least not taking it seriously in her study time. Either was entirely possible. Zinnia often sought the path of least resistance, and channeling Sol's gifts came naturally to her. Her increasing amounts of time spent with the Cryptarchy were also likely cutting into her practice. Master Rahool certainly took advantage of her presence and didn't bother to make certain she had enough space in her day to attend to her duties as a Guardian. When would Ikora Rey admit that sending Zinnia to penances for the Cryptarchy was just a monumental waste of time? There were far better ways to punish a Novice.

The little cook's apprentice came hurrying over with his coffee. She walked stiffly, afraid to spill a drop from either the large mug in one hand or the little pot of cream in the other. She trembled so much the porcelain chattered against the table.

"There you are, Guardian. Um, your meal will be out shortly." She bobbed a hurried curtsy and smoothed her white apron.

"Sugar?" He asked. The girl's face turned red.

"Oh! I forgot!" she mumbled, and scurried away again.

Shenu went back to his reading. What could make Zinnia focus? Lately, the little twit's attention was absorbed with that Vault Project the Cryptarchy was poring over. How he wished Ikora had never let Zinnia set eyes on that wretched Venusian ruins map! Zinnia was convinced she was going to join the Cryptarchs on some kind of breakthrough discovery about the Vault of Glass. As if nobody had ever attempted to study it before! And as if it were worth study! Master Rahool loved to dig up old rumors and tall tales from Guardians past in an attempt rediscover "long lost secrets". Zinnia was not immune to that pretentious old fool's zeitgeist.

He'd hoped she would see reason when it came to the Vault. Fireteams went into the Waking Ruins and they didn't come back out. Oh, he'd heard the legends of Praedyth and Kabr and Pahanin. He'd also come to realize they were just cautionary tales about taking on the Vex, as well as a healthy dose of yarn-spinning, meant to scare wide-eyed Newly Reborn or titillate bored Hunters around a campfire. She would be better off working on channeling her Light, delving into her own mysteries, and concentrating on the front lines of battle.

But no. That idiot Rahool was filling her impressionable mind with his ridiculous theories and gossip, building her up to think that maybe she could make a name for herself by cracking open the Vault. Ha! The Cryptarch was indeed lucky that a Warlock, even a Novice like Zinnia, would ever deign to give him the time of day. But the more fool was Zinnia for letting him stroke her ego and take advantage of her considerable talents. What she lacked in battle prowess, she more than made up for in her keen eye for puzzles and patterns and her strength of Light. Oh, he could really make something of her if she would just take something seriously for once in her short Rebirth!

Again the apprentice returned to his table. This time she brought along the requested toast, as well as a jar of sugar and a veritable pantry of butter and jam. She seemed determined not to forget anything this time around. She would not leave until he waved her away. Shenu shook his head and set about fixing up his coffee and toast. Ella would have her hands full with this one. The girl was lucky to be in the Tower at all. Likely she had been dredged up from the Foundry district. The cook seemed to like getting her help from the poorest and most uneducated quarters of the City. Well, she might have some promise so long as she did what she was told and nobody put too complex of a task on her shoulders. If she could manage her simple kitchen duties then she had a comfortable life ahead of her in the Tower, a comfort that rivaled even the richest citizens of the City. Never mind that there was hardly enough room in the Tower for any new Guardians now that the Speaker insisted on housing the civilian caretakers within its walls…

Not that there were appreciable influxes of new Guardians anymore. They seemed to come fewer and further between each year. How many Ghosts had wandered out into the black and never found what they were looking for, gone for so long that all had forgotten they even existed?

Ah, what he would give to speak to a Newly Reborn! Zinnia had come to him too late after her Rebirth for him to glean any hints of her past. He couldn't be certain that the closer to Rebirth a Guardian was the more likely a Thanatonaut Dive was going to work on them, but it was a theory he sorely wanted to test. It was hard to get any willing subjects. He hadn't even tried to broach the topic with Zinnia yet. If Zinnia clung so hard to Sol's Light, she likely wouldn't be amenable to the shadows of a Dive. Besides, Thanatonauts had an altogether undeserved reputation to contend with, one the foolish Novice seemed to buy into.

 **Guardian?** Ushabti's tentative voice cut into his thoughts. **I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's nearly oh-nine-hundred.**

Shenu blinked.

"What? I've hardly begun breakfast!"

 **We've been sitting here for quite some time…**

Shenu looked around. Falstaff and the rest of his Host were nowhere to be seen. The Titan and Warlock who had been playing chess were long gone, all evidence of their game cleaned up. A few more Tower personnel and Guardians were standing in line at the buffet or chatting at tables. He took an experimental sip of his coffee and found it had gone quite cold. The same with his toast. The butter was a congealed lump on the bread.

"Oh, for the love of the Light!" he swore. "Not again! How long was I meditating?" Meditating wasn't exactly the word he was looking for — in truth, he did not know what to call these trancelike states he was prone to falling into — but it was the closest thing he could think of.

 **Thirty-five minutes, Guardian. Thirty-five minutes and twenty-three seconds.**

Shenu shook his head irritably. If only he could predict when these episodes would occur! Ushabti's sensors showed normal chronological passage whenever a trance occurred — the Ghost could provide video capture of their surroundings to prove it — and Ushabti was aware of the time passing. It was only him he suffered the effects. He had to figure out how to prevent them!

Shenu scowled at his plate. So much for his breakfast.

"Did that girl not even bother to come by?"

 **Actually, she did. Um, I'm afraid she was rather upset by your, um, condition. I told her it was best you were left alone.**

"Ushabti, if this happens at my meeting with the Chancellor, do please snap me out of it. There are _some_ things I'd like to experience!"

 **Yes, Guardian.**

Shenu stood and smoothed his vestments. Nobody seemed to pay him any mind. He rather wondered what he must look like while these trances were happening. Hopefully like he was lost in thought, and not like a vacant-eyed Titan!

"Has the Chancellor arrived at the Tower yet?"

 **Her ship docked five minutes ago. The meeting is still scheduled for board room C.**

"Good," Shenu grunted. "Let's not keep her waiting." He left his untouched breakfast on the table and walked out. He would be ready for this meeting. The Chancellor had better be ready for _him_.


	3. Forty-seven Forms

Wailing alarms jerked her out of deep sleep. She bolted upright, gasping, trying to remember where she was. They were flying through a storm. Freezing rain streaked the cockpit windows, lightning laced the thick black clouds. The ship quaked and groaned. Ghost dashed back and forth over the control console, muttering to itself.

"What's happening?" she cried, blinded by another flash of lightning.

 **Oh, you're awake!** Ghost's fins twitched in nervous flickers. **Nothing to worry about! Just a few finicky systems!**

The ship dropped.

 **You might want to strap in!** Ghost clicked. **Uh, just as a precaution.**

She fumbled around for the seat harness buckles. Ghost narrowed its eye at a flashing klaxon.

"What's wrong?"

 **Wrong? Nothing's wrong!** It smacked against a flashing button. The alarms went silent. **There! Sorry for the rude awakening.**

The harness had mostly rotted away. She looked at the withered straps in dismay, trying to slow her breathing. What a way to start a new life, she thought. I don't suppose I can get another do-over? She burst into hysterical giggles. The thought hadn't even been that funny, but she couldn't help herself. Her unexpected good humor seemed to unsettle Ghost.

 **Now what's so funny?**

"I don't know!" she gasped, seized with laughter again. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

 **You must be Light Drunk** , Ghost sighed.

"Light Drunk?" she repeated, still laughing. The little thing kept throwing out these strange phrases and words as if she would understand. Light Drunk. Darkness. Guardian.

 **It's a common side effect of Rebirth. Newly raised Guardians tend to be a little…well…intoxicated. Your case seems pretty mild, though. I've heard stories of Guardians doing all sorts of crazy things when they were Reborn. Some of them get —**

The alarms went off again. Ghost whirled around, fins bristling.

 **Stupid hunk of Golden Age scrap! You call yourself a flight system?!**

That made her laugh even harder. Ghost darted around the cockpit, sending waves of light over the controls, fins reflecting the glaring red warnings. The ship dipped and rose. She laughed until her stomach hurt. Ghost was getting increasingly agitated. She thought maybe she should be worried too. But all she could feel was an overwhelming, giddy awe. She had names for everything she saw — clouds, lightning, night, rain — and they all made sense to her. She just couldn't remember seeing them look so real. No, she couldn't remember seeing them ever. When was the first time she had been in a storm? When was the last time? Reason told her there was something deeply wrong, but at the moment she couldn't be bothered to let it scare her.

Everything was so beautiful. The storm, the flashing lights in the cockpit, Ghost's musical hum…the ship rocked to the side, pushing her against the armrest. She fought for breath through more giggles. Maybe she had hit her head too hard in the fighting. Her hands were shaking, and they felt cold in the smooth gloves Ghost had made for her. She stared at them, the laughter finally starting to subside, remembering wielding the rifle. Remembering killing the Fallen. Fighting had felt so utterly normal. Picking up the gun, throwing herself behind cover, senses straining to find the enemy before it found her…

"How long have I been dead?" she asked. It was an absurd question, though no more absurd than anything else that had happened so far. That she should be alive at all, that she should be laughing at the storm or vomiting in her lap or luxuriating in the feel of just sitting back against the seat and simply breathing…

She blinked against another flash of lightning and stared through the spots in her vision to the black clouds beyond. There was a light ahead. It was growing stronger through distant breaks in the clouds.

 **What?** Ghost was distracted by the control panel, unable to get the alarms to stop. **Uh…my quick calculations put it at several hundred years. Right around the Collapse, actually.**

She stared out the window, curiously unmoved by this new information. Several hundred years. It had been nothing at all to her, hadn't it? Dead, and now alive. Flying through a storm with a Ghost after single-handedly fighting through hordes of Fallen. Fighting to stay alive after already dying. She snorted. A stupid grin spread over her lips, threatening to turn to more laughter. A full third of the console panel blared yellow and red.

 **No, no! Don't do this to me! We're losing engine one! There's too much ice!**

That at last cut through her mirth.

 **We're so close to the City!** Ghost moaned. **It's just beyond these mountains!**

"Can't we get above the storm?"

 **Not anymore! The defrosters went out a while ago. The higher we go, the faster we'll ice!**

"What?" she cried. "I thought you said everything was fine!"

 **It was!** Ghost insisted. **We were doing all right…until the engine went catastrophic…!**

"What do we do?" she stared helplessly at the controls. She had no idea how to fly the ship. Apparently her mysterious instincts did not include piloting.

 **Just hang on!**

She could see fine webs of ice forming on the glass. The inside of the cockpit felt rather cold too, now that she thought about it.

 **We're flying low enough for oxygen** , Ghost muttered, scanning the controls. **Cabin pressure is holding for now. Although I think the heating…oh, the heating has gone out! Stupid, ancient, bucket of bolts!**

That explained that.

What would they do if the engine failed? How could she die here after everything she'd just been through? She wished for that Light Drunk carelessness back. There was no laughter i her now, not the slightest ironic shred of it. She fixed her eyes forward in grim determination. They hurtled toward the gap in the clouds, the light growing stronger and stronger.

 **Come on!** Ghost clicked at the console.

It felt an eternity passed before they broke through. The cockpit flooded with dazzling sunlight. A towering mountain range filled her vision, ringing a spreading valley sparkling in a coat of morning rain. A city was cradled in that valley, its little crags of buildings mimicking the looming peaks in the distance. It spread in orderly rings, bounded by an enormous wall strikingly similar to the one they had fought their way through hours before.

Above it all hung a vast, shining sphere.

The sight of it was more than just a new astonishment. It was a visceral pull inside of her. She strained to see through the mud-streaked windows. Their plight was suddenly forgotten, feeling unimportant next to this new wonder.

The sphere's luminous shell reflected the dawn. She couldn't take her eyes off of it. Long, deep grooves scoured its otherwise smooth surface. She followed those cracks, hairline thin near the top and growing wider as they ran down. The bottom was ruined, splintered and broken open. Ripped into. Pieces of that white shell floated and twinkled in the air.

"It's hurt!"

Where she had come by that idea, she couldn't say. The sphere didn't appear to be alive like the Ghost was. But when she looked at it, she had the sense she wasn't looking at a mere broken monument. That gash was a _wound_.

Engine one gave out in a long, sputtering groan. The reality of their situation slammed home again.

 **No!** Ghost cried, trying to interface with the console. **Why today of all days?**

"Ghost?" she croaked, watching the City begin to tilt through the window.

 **I finally get my Guardian and this is what happens?!**

"Ghost!"

 **I'm calling the Hangar! We've got to be able to land this thing!**

She gripped the armrests until her fingers ached.

" _Ghost!_ "

The ship leveled, Ghost managing the helm.

 **Mayday! Mayday! Requesting priority clearance!**

The comms crackled to life. A woman's voice answered Ghost's distress call.

 _/Unidentified jumpship, we're reading your signature. Your signal is breaking up. Restate your identification?_

No identification! We've lost an engine, coming in hot! Mayday!

 _/Unidentified jumpship, please confirm…_ the signal fizzled out.

 **You've got to be kidding!** Ghost cried. The ship began to list again.

 **Okay, okay, don't panic!** She wasn't sure if Ghost was talking to her or trying to reassure itself. **Autopilot can get us lined up with the Hangar. We can always transmat out of here. But if the ship goes down now…!**

She glanced out the window, swallowing rising nausea. They were right over the city. The ship would surely smash into the buildings below if they abandoned it here.

The comms crackled again.

 _/…copy?…distress call…Ghost?_

This was a different woman's voice, tinged with a twang.

 **Yes! Yes! I'm here!**

 _/…going on…thought you were on transport with Dead…_

 **Mayday!** Ghost buzzed, fins sticking straight out. **Prepare for emergency landing!**

 _/…you on visual…lot of smoke…the name of Shaxx's horn are you flying?!_

A massive white spire slid into view as the ship banked to port. The edifice soared above the walls of the city in a graceful arc.

Another full panel lit up. Engine two began to gutter.

 **Mayday! Mayday!** Ghost wailed. **Amanda, we're losing control! Clear the Hangar for emergency landing!**

The ship streaked toward the shadowy mouth of an open bay high up on the spire's side. They were going to land in there?

"We're going too fast!" she cried.

 **I know! The autopilot has disengaged. I'm trying to** ** _get_** **us there!**

Now she could start to see inside the bay. Small figures scuttled back and forth. People, she realized with a start. They were going to crash right into them! She braced herself against the seat, heart pounding wildly, waiting for the terrible event. The people in the Hangar were rushing to the sides, waving to each other, pointing out to he sky.

"Ghost!"

 **I'm getting us out!**

Crystalline light enveloped her. A moment later her stomach fluttered as she dropped to her feet on the white-tiled floor of a small examination room. She stumbled and caught herself against a counter, knocking into a tray and sending jars of cotton swabs and tongue depressors flying.

A woman in a long, crisp white coat looked up from her desk.

 **New Guardian incoming!** Ghost announced. It glanced around the room, fins drawing down sheepishly at the mess. **Um, we don't have an appointment.**

The woman blinked once, then broke into a warm grin at them both. She breezed over and tweaked Ghost's fin.

"Well, look at you! It's about time!" She took a stethoscope from a hook on the wall and placed it around her shoulders.

"I'm Jana, Tower medical," she introduced herself, as though her exam room hadn't just been an impromptu landing site. "Please, have a seat."

Jana patted a blue-skinned hand on the examination table. The doctor was blue all over, an alluring deep shade that made her magenta eyes pop in her oval face. An occasional glow shimmered over her cheek or brow in tiny licks of light. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a tidy bun, surprisingly plain compared to her unusual features.

Jana caught her stare, a mixture of confusion and astonishment.

"It's all right. You can let go of the furniture," Jana laughed. "This isn't going to hurt." She furrowed her brow, noticing the rents in the armor. "Looks like you've already seen some action."

 **Fallen in the Cosmodrome** , Ghost said. **From the walls to the Divide. It's been a long day.**

Jana whistled, reaching for the armor straps and buckles.

"I thought those looked like shock pistol burns. Here, let's get this stuff off of you."

Freed from a bloody gauntlet, she flexed her left hand and stared at it in wonder. Her skin was not blue like Jana's, but instead a rich deep brown. Jana pulled off the other gauntlet, setting them aside on the table, and reached for the chest plate. She felt rather stupid letting the doctor deal with the armor, but she herself could only fumble at the buckles, too shocked to get her fingers to comply. Jana had apparently been through this before.

"You did nice work, Ghost," Jana said as she loosened the last strap on the chest plate and slipped it free. "This is some solid gear. The scarf is a nice touch, too."

 **It was cold** , Ghost chirped shyly.

"I knew he'd be a good one," Jana winked at her. "Ghost has been waiting a very long time for this day. Okay, up on the table with you."

She eased herself onto the cushioned table and sat, still staring at her hands. With the armor gone, she felt somehow even more awkward, small and insubstantial, like she might just float away. Maybe that was the giddiness returning. An image of her flying around the room like the little Ghost popped into her head. She stifled a giggle. Ghost looked at her sharply.

"A little Light Drunk, are we?" Jana asked, pulling up a chair in front of the exam table.

The doctor set straight to work, first making her follow one finger with her eyes — "dilated," she announced, "definitely riding the Light!" — and looking into her mouth and nose and ears. After that, Jana gingerly peeled back the layers of tough fabric to examine her burns and lacerations. Ghost hovered closer and closer, blinking anxiously at each half-healed wound. The doctor did not seem at all surprised by the caked blood and ugly bruising. She muttered about healing in normal parameters and congratulated Ghost on its battlefield triage.

 **I'm feeling stronger** , Ghost said. **I could attempt another round of healing!**

"That won't be necessary," Jana said, swabbing the side wound with stinging astringent. "These burns can't feel too good, but she's otherwise healthy as a well-fed Titan. Which you won't be if you push yourself too far."

Ghost buzzed grumpily but did not protest further.

"Ghost will take over all your care once he's rested sufficiently," Jana explained. "You won't even have a scar once he's had a chance to fully heal you. After today, you won't ever have to come in and see me again! Well, except for your annual exam — if I can wrangle you into that! But for now I'm afraid you'll have to put up with some aches and pains. Fortunately, our research on Guardian physiology has helped us formulate a few pain relievers that should give you some relief in the meantime." The doctor offered no explanation as to why her physiology should be so unusual. Was it because she had been dead?

After dressing the wounds, Jana had her go through a series of simple exercises, from touching her nose to wiggling her toes in her boots and tapping her knee with a little hammer to make her kick. The doctor recorded every result on a datapad she kept handy, all the while fielding Ghost's incessant questions. As the doctor was finishing up her final notes, there was a knock on the exam room door.

"Come in!" Jana called.

A man entered. He was of human height and build, but definitely not human. Instead he was some kind of machine, though so sophisticated that the word seemed vastly inadequate to describe him. His eyes glowed with a piercing blue light like Ghost's and he wore light armor and leather, weathered and worn. A long, tattered cloak hung down his back. A blue horn stuck out from the cowl.

"Hi, Cayde!" Jana straightened from her notes with a smile.

"Mornin', doc!" Cayde greeted. His voice was a pleasant drawl. "I'm lookin' for a Ghost, about yea big," — he held up a thumb and forefinger barely spaced apart, intricate servos working — "that Zavala has just volunteered to serve as target practice for Shaxx."

 **Oh, no!** Ghost gasped. **The Hangar! Is everyone all right? I got caught up in the exam and —**

Cayde waved a hand.

"Oh, that? Pfft, they're fine! Amanda called, hollerin' bloody murder about a hot landing and a Ghost. I figured it must be you coming back from missing your transport. But I didn't know you'd brought a little bundle of joy with you!" He glanced down, as if noticing her for the first time.

"Cayde-6, Vanguard. How you doing?"

She took his offered hand in numb fingers. He didn't wait for her answer.

"Anywho, the vein on Zavala's forehead is popping out about twice as far as normal right now thanks to your bait-and-switch in the steppes. I think he _might_ calm down a little when you bring in" — he looked to her again — "what's your name, kid?"

"I don't —"

"Oh, right! You just fell off the back of the ol' cabbage truck, didn't you?" Cayde chuckled. "Let's call you forty-seven for now, on account of how many forms I gotta fill out regarding the excitement in the Hangar."

 **Forty…seven…?** Ghost clicked, sounding a little faint. Cayde forged ahead, hands on his belt, sounding wholly amused by the situation. A large knife hung at his side, the blade easily as long as his hand.

"If you bring in Guardian forty-seven here, I think Zavala might upgrade you to ping-pong ball or singing telegram!"

Ghost was at a loss for words. It clicked softly, trying to shrink behind her shoulder.

"Cayde!" Jana interjected, shaking her head. "Leave the poor Ghost alone! He's had a tough time of it in the Dead Zones. They had to fight the Fallen!"

Aw, I'm just messin' with you!" Cayde laughed. He glanced her over, taking in the bloodstains.

"Got all banged up first day on the job, huh?"

Ghosts fins drew down a little more.

 **We were surrounded!**

"Hell of a place, the Cosmodrome." Cayde actually sounded wistful for it. "I thought that well of Guardians dried up a long time ago. Where'd you shake the dust off? Skywatch? Mothyards?"

"Uh…"

 **Outside the wall. Golden Age wreckage!** Ghost chirped.

"No kidding! We haven't had a Rebirth from that Age in…well, ages! Don't let ol' Rahool get wind of that or he'll have you under glass!" Cayde chuckled again. "Well, welcome home, new kid. Relax. Take everything in. You're safe here in the Tower, and your Ghost is going to take good care of you. Better care, now that I'm here to remind him not to throw greenhorns headlong into battle."

 **I said we were surrounded!** Ghost muttered sullenly.

"When will I start to remember who I am?" she asked, finally able to get a word in.

"Ah," Cayde cocked his head. For the first time his easy banter was thrown off. "I wouldn't count on that happening. Maybe a few fragments from Before will come to you, maybe not. It's no good dwelling on it. Besides, it don't matter."

"Tactful," Jana sighed.

Cayde shrugged. "It's true! She'll understand in time. I think a visit to the Speaker would help."

She nodded, still troubled. How could that not matter? And what was a Speaker? At that moment, her stomach decided to let out a growl so loud that all eyes turned to her. The ache in her middle hadn't been purely from the battle after all.

"Get this Guardian something to eat!" Cayde laughed. "I envy you your first meal. I hear it's really an event."

"I agree," Jana smiled. "You'd better take her to the mess hall, Ghost. I turn her over to the Vanguard now. She's all yours, Cayde — the Traveler help us!"

"Thank you, doctor," Cayde crowed. "Your expertise is only outmatched by your beauty."

"You're not getting out of your physical this week," Jana sniffed.

"Worth a try. But I still meant what I said."

"You need to get out more if that's all you've got."

"Don't I know it!" Cayde sighed. "Maybe you should take me out!"

"Scoundrel!" Jana clucked.

"Hey! I meant as friends! I don't want your boy toy coming after me."

Jana rolled her eyes, tidying up the exam room.

"Uh huh. Robert says hi, by the way. He really loves the toolbelt you got him for his birthday. Oh! He wanted me to ask you if you'd come to his bachelor party next month."

"Are you kidding me? I'll be there with bells on! Er, provided the Fallen give it a rest, of course."

"Of course. Thanks, Cayde. I'll let him know."

She watched this whole exchange in bewilderment. Fighting the Fallen had been less confusing than this place!

Jana turned back to her and Ghost.

"All right, you're free to go. Have a meal if you're up to it. Take it easy, though. Your stomach hasn't had a chance to do its thing in a long time. The kitchens are always open for Guardians, so you won't ever go hungry."

 **I'll take you right there!** Ghost buzzed.

"You had better take your Rest soon." Cayde gave Ghost a hard look. "Your Light needs replenishing from the Rebirth."

 **I will!** Ghost sighed, impatient to get going.

"Your Ghost is a stubborn one," Cayde said. "But you probably already gathered that." He straightened up, took one appraising look around the room, and nodded.

"Okie dokie, duty calls. Those reports won't write themselves. Believe me, I've tried to make them. I'll send maintenance a room request for you, new kid. And seriously, Ghost, you should probably talk to Zavala soon. He's got that look in his eyes — you know the one." He drew a finger across his neck.

Ghost buzzed disconsolately. Cayde swept out, only to immediately poke his head back around the door.

"Hey, Jana! Tell Robert to order karaoke at the party!"

Jana raised an eyebrow.

"Since when did you become a singer?"

"Oh, I didn't! But you haven't _lived_ until you've heard Zavala do karaoke! Trust me: one Titan Vanguard, three bottles of Blustery, and you've got yourself a whole night of entertainment!"

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Toodles!" Cayde gave a smart salute.

Jana sighed.

The room was remarkably quieter with Cayde gone.

She looked at her hands in her lap, thought about the ship, thought about singing, and broke into another giggle.

 **Oh, not again!** Ghost clicked.

"I almost forgot!" Jana exclaimed. She rummaged through a drawer in her desk, returning with a little jeweled hand mirror. "You probably want to know what you look like!"

She took the offered mirror and only hesitated a moment before tilting it to her face.

"This is my favorite part," Jana confided.

There was no shock of realization when she saw herself. It was a strange feeling, looking into the mirror and not recognizing what she saw. Dark skin, high cheekbones, full lips. Her hair brushed her shoulders, black and curly, sweaty and tangled. Grey eyes searched their reflection in the mirror. She touched her cheeks and forehead, turned her face to one side and then the other, waited for the recognition to come. For anything, the barest hint of memory. The seconds crawled by. She gripped the mirror, suddenly seized with the urge to hurl it to the floor in panic. The glass showed her a face pinched with frustration.

Jana carefully slipped the mirror from her fingers.

"I know it must be hard," she spoke softly. "You'll get used to everything, I promise. Listen to your Ghost and your fellow Guardians."

"Did you recover any of your memories?" she asked.

Jana hesitated a moment, uncertain what she meant. Then she smiled.

"I'm not a Guardian. The Tower is where Guardians come to rest when they're not away on missions for the Vanguard. It's also full of us civilians. So, no…I can't say I recovered my memory, because I never lost it. But I've also only had just this one life."

"I see," she murmured. At least the doctor was straightforward.

Ghost was staring at her again.

 **Do you want something in particular to eat?** it prompted. **Should I send a request to the kitchens? It's no trouble. Ella is always excited to see a new Guardian. You can have anything you want!**

She shrugged, suddenly drained. These fierce mood swings were doing nothing for her confusion. Did she have a favorite food? Had she ever?

"Go and get some rest," Jana suggested. "I've got to process your medical file and get you in the system."

The doctor helped her slide off the table and gather her armor. She made to carry it, but Ghost simply whisked it away the same way it had brought her to the examination room.

"Thank you, doctor," she said as Jana showed her out.

"Don't mention it." Jana's smile was infinite warmth and understanding. "The Light keep you, Guardian. I'm honored to serve."

Jana surprised her with a deep bow, one hand to her heart. There had been no hint of sarcasm in the doctor's voice. The genuine affection in her strange eyes was not feigned.

Jana left her in the hall with Ghost.

 **Where to?**

Ghost's question was an innocent one, yet it summed up her fragmented thoughts precisely. She took a step forward, hoping to peer around the gently curving corridor and catch a glimpse of what was beyond. Her head swam. Exhaustion crashed down upon her again.

 **The kitchens aren't far from here. Just a short ride on the elevators.**

She wanted to…what did she want? She wanted to howl. She wanted to run. She wanted to laugh until she couldn't stand. She wanted to sit down and cry for days. She glanced down at her tough undersuit, stained with blood and sweat far more than she'd realized.

She wanted a bath.

"I think I want to clean up," she said, voice thick with sudden shame and fear.

 **You would hardly be the worst thing seen around the Tower** , Ghost chirped. It was flitting about the hall and did not notice her anxiety. **But let's go track someone down who can get us to your rooms!**


	4. The Acorn

The Tower bells chimed the evening hour. Kemal wrapped his heavy coat closer around him and silently counted along with each deep toll as he walked. The old children's rhyme always came to mind whenever he heard the bells' familiar sound.

 _One, two, three: The Traveler's gift to you and me_  
 _Four, five, six: All the souls the Ghosts do pick_  
 _Seven, eight, nine: When you hear the Tower bells chime_  
 _Ten, eleven, twelve: The Guardians keep watch; the Tower is well_

The last peal reverberated in the cold, clear night. Kemal touched his chest where the Truth pearl hung underneath his coat and murmured a quick prayer of thanks to the Light. It was twenty-hundred hours and time at last to be off of his work shift.

Kemal was not the only one leaving the Tower at this time. A stream of people trickled from the gated entryway at the Tower's base beside the loading docks. Some were visitors who had concluded their business and were on their way home. Most were workers like himself who were seeking entertainment out in the City or were off to visit relatives. They all passed down the long, wide avenue that stretched toward the transit station at the edge of the Foundry district. There were aerial trams from the mid-levels of the Tower that could take him halfway to the station in much less time than a walk. There were taxis at the Tower's base as well, even pedicabs and horse carriages — although those were really only frequented by happy couples who had come to see the Tower up close and make a wish on it as part of a romantic evening. Workers like Kemal wouldn't bite for their services, but their drivers still watched him pass with interest. But despite so many conveniences, Kemal preferred to stroll down the avenue on his own two feet.

There was something about the walking, something about the wide thoroughfare itself, that helped him leave the Tower behind and enter the world of the City. The grand road was not completely choked with automobiles, heavy with the noise and lights of the streets that awaited him. Here at the northern edge of the City, traffic grew sparse and buildings were few and far between. The street was lit in regular intervals by tall, graceful lamps that cast pools of white light. Between those pools, the night was deep and quiet. Around the laughter, chatter, and footsteps of fellow travelers, the wind shushed through the pines on the foothills. Over all of it soared the Tower, a great looming shadow at his back, the mighty Walls curving like protective arms from its proud stand.

Kemal was seeking a drink with friends. There were a couple places he could relax within the Tower's walls, but tonight he wanted to be out in the City. Even such a grand place like it could start to feel a little stale when one worked and lived there for weeks on end. He would never take that for granted, though. It was the Light's grace that he had ever come to live in the Tower at all! And he would never stop feeling that sense of pride and wonder whenever he looked up on the Traveler's Walk and saw the Order banners flapping in the breeze.

Kemal had rubbed elbows with Guardians night and day for a little over a month now. At any moment, whether he was walking to the Frame shop or waiting for an elevator or eating in the cafeteria, he could encounter a Guardian. The idea still sent a thrill up his spine. A Guardian! The Light Blessed themselves, walking around just like him! Growing up in the faith of the Light's Truth, he'd sent prayers to the Traveler and the Light on their behalf every night. He'd sat on his mother's shoulders at the feast day parades to try and get a far-off glimpse of an honorary Guardian attendee. None of that had prepared him to stand shoulder to shoulder with one! Now, heading toward the mag-train to catch a ride to the Inner City, he wasn't sure whether he was relieved or sad to finally step outside the Tower's bounds. Maybe a little of both. At least out here he could relax, let his guard down and not worry about doing something stupid in front of a Guardian. But then it also meant he was incredibly unlikely to see a Guardian at all.

The train was just gliding into the station when he arrived at the covered platform. Kemal's breath steamed in the frigid air while he waited for the cars to come to a stop. He fiddled with trinkets in his coat pockets — old screws and twists of cable and broken keycards that needed repair — little souvenirs from a day of fixing up Frames and supervising their maintenance duties. When the doors slid open, he boarded the bright cabin and flashed his wrist pass to the toll panel. The car was practically deserted. He had his pick of seats tonight. With mining operations shut down at Hakke's east holding, much of the work traffic he could normally expect was absent. It was an eerie thing to see the effects of the disaster in person. He'd been watching the sobering news reports along with his coworkers in the Frame maintenance department for days now, yet his schedule had gone on uninterrupted. Rain or shine, Fallen attacks or not, the Tower stayed the same through calm or crisis. That was what the City loved about it. He hadn't realized how isolating that steadfastness could be until he was standing outside of it again.

Kemal chose a seat close to the window, though he wasn't intent on seeing the scenery. His thoughts were elsewhere, more reluctant than he to leave the Tower behind.

He kept seeing that Guardian in his mind. Particularly, her eyes. Their memory made him shiver. Blessed Light! They hadn't been the soft glow of an Awoken's eyes or the piercing lights of an Exo. They'd been regular human eyes, a nice shade of grey. There had just been something in them, some kind of magnificent wonder, that had made every ordinary thing she looked at seem transformed. And when she had looked at him…

Lei-5 often talked about the Light moving inside of people, and how it was so much more obvious in Guardians. When that Guardian looked at him, he had thought the Light might burst right out of her eyes and burn him away. She had stood before him and breathed the same air. Walked on the same ground. And her eyes had said that she trembled on the edge of the Light's own glory. He didn't pretend to know anything about Guardians or the mysteries of the Light the way a Flame like Lei-5 did. This morning, though, he knew he had seen something profound. She was brand new, her little Ghost had informed him. Not even a full day into her Rebirth. While he had settled down to a dinner of reheated noodles the evening before, she was called into being. Maybe that was why her eyes had looked the way they did. She had just been lifted away from death itself, back to the everyday world where Kemal could change a light bulb in her quarters.

The train pulled away from the station, picking up speed immediately. The magnificent Tower receded behind him and the lights of the Inner City grew closer. It entered the industrial heart of the Foundry district in a matter of minutes. Bright floodlights spilled over barbed-wire fencing and the electric barring around the high security warehouses. Smoke poured from rooftops and brick stacks, mingling with the low clouds moving in from the harbor. The roads here were as likely to be made of mud as they were of glide turf, and those that were paved hardly deserved the term, they were so riddled with potholes and cracks. Giant cranes poised over squat, blocky factories and workyards like curious animals. Tongues of flame lapped at the sky above the power plants, backups for the City's main arc generators. Coal and freight trains trundled in long lines waiting to unload their cargo, their bright headlamps piercing through the dark. The train passed through this labyrinthine district in a rush of air and whining steel. Looking into the shadows, Kemal saw people huddled on street corners or gathered under bridges and trestles. Those on the corners might be workers waiting to catch a bus home. The others were already there.

Kemal stared down the streets, wondering how his brother and mother were doing. Were he to step off the train just about now and walk a sector away from the tracks, he would find the place he used to call home. Before the brilliant Tower and the small apartment he shared with Etienne, there had been his little house on King street in the middle of the Foundry district. It still felt strange not to hail the bus, like he'd had to do when returning home from his first interviews with the Tower, and make the walk from the nearest stop to his mother's front door. He kept expecting that one day he would have to do that again, kept waiting for the Tower to say he was no longer needed. _This was a mistake_ , they would say. _You're not supposed to be here._ It was a Light-sent miracle that they had ever accepted him at all.

He was terribly homesick, but the honor of his position helped keep that at bay. Besides, the glimmer was more than he could ever have hoped for. Azmi's tuition fund was growing well. Kemal could hardly wait to present his brother with the final sum that would gain him entrance to his first year at the College — not to mention let his mother stop working extra shifts.

Several times the train stopped to let on more riders. Near the innermost sector of the Foundry district, a few factory workers trickled into his car. They looked tired and eager to get home. They held their fare cards and datapads in callused hands and wiped their faces with handkerchiefs that were permanently stained. Like Kemal, they mostly kept to themselves. Some of them noted the keycards and identification tags he wore around his neck bearing the Tower's sigil. Then they looked him up and down with interest. _What makes you so special?_ their looks seemed to say. _Why does someone of the Tower want to go into the City?_ He wasn't embarrassed if people knew that he worked for the Tower. He just wished that they wouldn't stare. I am just like you! he wanted to say to them. Just like them…only the Light saw fit to bless him with a rare appointment to the Tower.

By the time the train reached Lower Downtown, Kemal's car was nearly empty again. Most workers of the Foundry district lived in that same district, where their employment was nearby and rents were much more accommodating to the average pay. Mostly it was the administrators and managers who rode with him to the Inner City. They cat-napped in their seats or had their noses buried in datapads, bringing their work with them. Kemal thought about pulling out his own datapad and reading. Instead he just stared out the window and kept thinking about the Guardian's strange eyes. He could see his own dark brown eyes in the window's reflection, tired and thoughtful. Not at all like the way hers had looked when she'd gazed out the window at the City below.

Her clothing had been torn and bloodstained. She had smelled in need of a good bath too, though of course he hadn't said anything. Instead he had tried to talk about the City —It's beautiful, isn't it? — or something unimportant along those lines. Blessed Light, what an idiot he'd been! Presuming to speak to a Guardian like that…he should have just bit his tongue! But she had looked at him with such an expression! Those fascinating eyes had been asking him to tell her everything he knew about the world stretched out before her. He hadn't known what to say, so in the end he'd just smiled and went about checking the rooms, making sure everything was in working order. Then her Ghost had started talking to her again, so he'd had to remain quiet. It wouldn't have been polite for him to interrupt a Ghost.

Kemal roused himself when the recorded message announced arrival at Lower Downtown, Oak sector. He stepped off the car back into the cold winter night. A scant few riders waited on the platform. Monday evenings were slow in this district, and he rather liked it that way. Tonight he was in the mood for a familiar hideaway and a good chat with close friends. He hadn't seen them since dropping out of the College at the end of the last semester. He would be the last one of them to arrive at the bar, according to Tamara's quick message on his datapad. He hoped that they could excuse the wait. Helping the new Guardian was a request from his boss that he wouldn't have turned down for anything. Even though Chelise was the only other one of his friends who was actively professing the Light's Truth and attending the Flame, any of them would surely jump at the chance to assist the Light Blessed. Chelise especially. He was sure that she would have plenty of excited questions for him about Tower life.

The bar he was looking for was just a block away from the train station. The entrance was tucked away in a small alley that at first glance looked like a dubious dead end. The alley began at a paved cobblestone square where the giant oak the sector was named for grew in its fenced enclosure. The tree was magnificent even after all of its leaves had fallen. It was said to be the child of a seed brought from one of the grand, ancient trees that grew at the top of the Tower. Kemal couldn't be sure about that, but he liked the legend all the same. This tree was festooned with tiny gold lights that twinkled around its thick, twisting branches. A young couple sat on a bench underneath the bare canopy, hardly paying the rest of the world any mind.

Kemal turned into the alley and was greeted by the bar's familiar neon sign. _The Acorn_ , it buzzed in red letters, ringed by the yellow outline of an oak leaf. Under the sign, a short stairway led down to a basement door in a brick foundation. The Acorn was not a large, flashy bar, which was why he liked to frequent it. It was the exact opposite of the blaring nightclubs and raucous pool halls he'd gone to before he went to live at the Tower. Even then, those clubs hadn't really been his first choice of a hangout. He was grateful his friends didn't mind meeting up here tonight. They still craved noise and excitement.

The entire establishment was just one long room with two smaller alcoves branching off of it. One of those alcoves led to a small office. The other housed bathrooms for the patrons. The actual bar counter took up a good third of the room, the dark wood lovingly chiseled into a flowing design of vines and leaves. Red lamps hung over thick, scarred wooden tables, diffusing the light into a warm glow that complemented the cheery atmosphere. Nearly every available inch of the bar's brick walls were taken up with faded pennants and sports jerseys, some from City professional leagues and some from the College. Typical bar decor for the most part, except for a tattered swath of faded cloth that hung over the entryway door. That was a Hunter's cloak, given long ago for reasons forgotten. A few fan-made Crucible pennants were scattered in the mix, though The Acorn was not one of the covert places in the City that a civilian could gamble on unofficial Crucible feeds. Lord Shaxx did not permit televising Crucible matches. Nor did he permit Guardians to boast too loudly of their results, which Kemal had learned upon entering the Tower. And the Crucible Handler had long ago made his displeasure at merchandising known. The Crucible was not to be confused with any old sports match, Shaxx maintained. Ursula, The Acorn's proprietor, was inclined to agree. Enterprising merchants in the City did not care about such ideals. Thus, whatever Shaxx believed, there was a die-hard fanbase who branded everything they could think of with the names of the most famous Cruciblers, and they followed the progress of their favorite Guardians as closely as they could through illegal feeds. Kemal even had a couple of these shirts and such, though he was careful never to wear them anymore.

Patrons sat on padded stools in front of the counter or clustered around tables. They sipped drinks and chatted, played darts in the corner, took advantage of the jukebox loaded up with the latest music. Some watched one of the two large vidscreens that were perpetually tuned to City sports leagues and news. Right now they both blared coverage of the mine incident. A disaster was what they should have been calling it. The mine's major equipment had been devastated, the workers scattered, with some survivors only just now being rescued. Very many were horribly injured. The casualties were still uncertain, though they already tallied at least a dozen. The City had not seen such an attack since Kemal was a little boy. He could only glance at the screens before looking away. It made him sad to think of those whose work was so dangerous when he was so well taken care of now.

Kemal's friends were gathered at one of the small tables opposite the vidscreens. He grinned when he caught sight of them laughing and talking over a pitcher of beer. Inacio, looking tougher than he was in his typical leather jacket and covered in glimmer-press tattoos, was engaged in an animated conversation with Blair, immediately recognizable in his old flannels and the red knit hat he wore for everything but a shower. Inacio sat beside his girlfriend Tamara, who split her attention equally between the two men and her ever-present datapad without losing a beat. Chelise had her chair angled so she sat looking over at the vidscreens. She toyed with her Truth pearl while she watched, sucking on a strand of her long dark bangs, an old childhood habit. He remembered when she had got the haircut she wore now, short and tousled in the back, long in the front. He'd teased her for leaving her bangs just so she could have that security blanket. She had shrugged her shoulders and grinned in helpless defeat. He liked the new look anyways.

Chelise was the first to see him approach. She broke into a smile, though her hazel eyes flicked momentarily back to the screen.

"Sorry I'm late," Kemal apologized. "I got caught up working past my shift." The table became a flurry of activity as chairs were scooted back to accommodate handshakes and hugs. Kemal was grinning ear to ear now. Everyone looked well.

"I got your message," Tamara said, pointing at her datapad. Her long fingernails clicked against the screen. As usual, she was a riot of color and cutting-edge fashion. Her long blonde hair bore new gold and blue highlights coordinated to match her striking makeup. She was sporting very popular Titan-inspired boots that lent a rugged air to her trendy silk scarves and sleek black leather vest. Next to her, Kemal felt very plain in his old hooded shirt and thick weave work pants. The utility sleeves on his legs were about as up-to-the minute as he got in fashion. Chelise was right alongside him in that respect, preferring the classic City styles of long tunics and scarves in her favorite shades of purples and earth tones.

"What took you so long?" Blair asked, making room for Kemal to sit. "Is Tower security as tight on the way out as it is going in?"

"I just got caught up getting some rooms ready for habitation."

"I thought that was what you program the Frames for!" Inacio said.

Kemal shrugged. "Well, it was for a Guardian. I wanted to do it."

"I wish my landlord had your attitude," Tamara grunted.

"Your landlord would hop to it too if there was a Titan breathing down his neck!" Blair chuckled. "Kemal can't reschedule maintenance endlessly. They know where he lives!"

Everyone laughed. Kemal shared their mirth.

"Nah. It's not like that. The rooms hadn't been used in a while and they needed some work." It was mostly the truth. He had also stuck around to change that light bulb and explain things like operating the climate controls. Things that Guardian did not know. Things he took for granted. She had stared at each new concept presented to her like she thought…like she thought sheshould know them. All the while, Kemal averted his eyes from the bloodstains on her clothing and had tried not to think about how she had come by them. She had probably killed whatever had hurt her faster than he could switch on a Frame. Yet she didn't realize how to program hot water in the shower.

"The Tower gets what it wants," Inacio said. "We're just lucky they let Kemal come down here and mingle with the common folk now and again." It was a lighthearted jab, but Kemal was anxious to see that it remained just a joke.

"What are you guys drinking?" Kemal asked. "Let me buy a round."

"Look at the big spender!" Blair crowed. Kemal immediately regretted his words.

"I'll take advantage of it!" Inacio said. "For once, Kemal is actually going to drink something other than tea!" Kemal smiled gratefully. Inacio could sense how uncomfortable the newfound income made him. Kemal was not rich by any means, but on a Tower salary, he was certainly better off than the rest of them. Especially with not having to worry about rent or food costs. Bless the Speaker for declaring free room and board for personnel!

"I'm done for the night," Chelise spoke up, finally looking away from the vidscreen. "You guys get what you want."

"There's a special on pitchers of Tower Bastion," Tamara suggested. Kemal hesitated. Would he look miserly if he just ordered that?

"Kemal's probably sick of Tower anything," Blair quipped.

"Bastion is fine," Kemal said. "I'll be right back." He left the table and went to stand at the bar before anymore jokes could be made. It was all in good fun, he tried to tell himself. He shouldn't worry about it. If they didn't want his company, they wouldn't have stuck around to wait for him.

He was pleased to see that Ursula was the bartender tonight. She was part owner of The Acorn with her husband and had taken it upon herself to act as a surrogate mother to Kemal and his friends whenever they visited, always taking an interest in their studies and lives. She was the one who had encouraged him to apply to the Tower for a position in Frame maintenance. Not only that, she had sent word to friends of friends who already worked there to help him get an edge. He was eternally grateful for her intervention. The waiting list for Tower work stretched into years. It seemed like an Age since he had talked to her last, not merely a month. She greeted him warmly as he approached.

"Look who's here! You're looking well, Kemal. How is life in the Tower treating you?"

"It's good." Kemal shuffled his feet and glanced back at his friends. Chelise was back to watching the vidscreen. "There's lots of work. I'm busy every day." It was hard to talk about the Tower without sounding like he was boasting.

"I'll bet," Ursula said. "I knew you would come in handy up there."

They exchanged more small talk while she poured out a pitcher for the table. He scanned his glimmer card against the terminal. Ursula did a double-take at the total he authorized.

"That's a heck of a tip, Kemal," she frowned.

"It's repayment," he murmured. "For before."

Ursula shook her head. "I told you not to worry about it!"

Kemal tapped the authorization button and put his card away before she could protest further.

"You really helped me out before I got to the Tower," he said. "Making up the difference in rent when mom was sick. And I never would have been able to get the job without your help. Please accept it." Ursula was still frowning. Was she thinking he was just flashing his pay around to brag? Blessed Light, why did things have to be so complicated now that he finally had a good job and could afford to repay kindness shown to him in the past?

"All right," Ursula said. "But I want you to promise me you'll save some of that glimmer for yourself. You're always working so hard! You need some fun in your life!"

"I will," he said. He took the pitcher and extra glasses back to the table.

The friends shared a toast to the long-awaited reunion. They drank and talked. Kemal's smiles came easier and more relaxed. It really was good to get out. The Tower was a wondrous place, but it sure could get lonely. Listening to his friends talk about their classes at the College and the escapades they had been up to was making him feel a bit wisftul. He used to share engineering classes with Blair and Inacio, and Tamara had joined them for study groups. In fact, as top of her class in the phsyics department, Tamara had usually ended up tutoring them all. Chelise had often stopped by those groups too, though her studies in City politics and broadcasting meant her classes didn't much intersect with theirs. Kemal had most often seen her at weekly services in the Flame on campus. Before that, they had practically lived at each other's houses growing up.

"You have to tell us all about the Tower," Tamara demanded. She put down her datapad and fixed Kemal with an eager look. "I've never known anyone who actually went there!"

Everyone leaned forward a bit, waiting to hear what he would say. Like he had guessed, this was the hotly anticipated subject of the evening. Only Chelise continued to sit back. She seemed engrossed by the news reports, only half an ear to the conversation.

"Do you see the Guardians every day?" Tamara prompted. "What are they like?"

Kemal rubbed the back of his neck and tried to think of an adequate way to describe them. He had been preparing for questions like these all night. Of course, now that the time had come, he couldn't find the words. The new Guardian's eyes flashed through his mind again.

"They're just like you've always heard. They're incredible!" He shrugged and grinned an apology for his inadequate explanation.

"Have you seen any of the Vanguard? Or Lord Shaxx?" Inacio asked.

"Yeah. I've caught sight of Shaxx once or twice. He's hard to miss! I actually talked to Ikora Rey last week."

Tamara's mouth dropped open. "You talked to the Warlock Vanguard?"

"Talked isn't really the right word, I guess," Kemal amended quickly. "She just pointed me to a Frame in the Vanguard Hall that needed service." He laughed, remembering that meeting and how much his knees had been shaking when he walked into the room and saw Ikora Rey herself for the first time.

"You ever get to work with a Ghost?" Inacio asked.

"I'd love to get my hands on one of them and take it to the College!" Blair sighed. "I'd pass Advanced Transmat Theory for sure!"

"Yeah, because you'd make it do all your homework while you go and party!" Tamara snorted.

"Hey, whatever it takes," Blair shrugged. "I just want to pass. Man, think of if I showed up to class with a Ghost! Professor Deneve would probably piss himself! You think you could convince one to come over?" He asked Kemal hopefully.

"Sorry," Kemal grinned. "I haven't seen any Ghosts hanging around who aren't with Guardians."

It was a bit of a shock to hear his friends talking about the Ghosts like they were some kind of datapad application. Tamara, Blair, and Inacio were never terribly faithful when it came to the Light's Truth, but it wasn't just that. Practically the very first thing he had been told upon setting foot in the Tower was to treat the little creatures with respect, and not just because their Guardian was likely within earshot. That new Guardian's Ghost was the closest he had been to one of them yet. Truthfully, he was as fascinated by them as his friends. It really would be interesting to be able to get to know one — especially if it let him ask how it worked. He desperately wanted to know how they differed from Frames and Exos. But he would never pry without a Ghost's express permission! A Ghost shouldn't have to submit to study by anyone, let alone a lowly Frame technician. The catechisms maintained their sustenance was by Light, and Kemal did not question that. It was their inorganic matter that he was so keen to understand.

"I just want to know how they do it," Inacio said, draining the dregs of his beer glass. "I want to know how they find Guardians and raise them from the dead."

They all glanced at Kemal. He and Chelise had the answer from the Light's Truth, that the Light Blessed were chosen by the Will of the Light as expressed through the Ghosts. But Inacio was asking for an official Tower explanation, if such a thing existed. Kemal had not heard one.

"You'll have to study the Light's Will for that," Kemal said, gently teasing Inacio. "I've heard nothing counter to it in the Tower."

"No one has told you?" Blair asked, looking disappointed.

Kemal shook his head. The catechisms did not speculate on the process, and no one he worked with had mentioned it. In his heart, he imagined the resurrection to be something beautiful. Warm and comforting, like a ray of sunshine or a call from an old friend.

"Hoping you'll get chosen one day?" Chelise asked Blair. Her tone was decidedly sarcastic.

Blair broke into a grin. "Heck, yeah! I want to kick some Fallen butt!"

"The Ghost will wait until we're all dead and gone," Tamara retorted. "We won't be around for you to brag to." Inacio and Kemal laughed.

"I don't see why the Ghosts have to go on some long search just to find one Guardian," Blair continued. "Why can't they just go to the nearest graveyard and take their pick?"

"If you can figure that out, the philosophy department would like a word with you," Tamara said. She poured another glass of beer for herself and topped off Kemal's glass. "You could just go on up to the Cryptarchy and take over the Master's job."

"Isn't it weird though, how no Guardians ever seem to be from anytime recent?" Blair insisted. "How no one ever looks at one and goes: oh hey, there's my auntie or my brother or whatever?"

"That's how it's always been," Kemal said. "Might as well ask why fish swim." He glanced curiously at Chelise. He expected her to jump in any time now.

"What I think is weird is how the Ghosts are always around," Inacio said. "Do they ever leave their Guardians alone? Are they with them all the time? I mean like all the time? For _everything?_ "

Blair chuckled. Tamara rolled her eyes.

"I'm just saying, that's got to be weird." Inacio put his hands up. "Talk about a lack of privacy! You'd have to let your date know that there's gonna be a party of three no matter what!"

"You're such a perv," Tamara sighed. "I'm sure if a Guardian wants privacy their Ghosts just turn themselves off and don't pay any attention."

"Well, they go into a state of hibernation with their Guardian called Rest," Kemal corrected her. "It's not an off switch. They're still aware of what's happening around them." He was grateful for the quick primers his boss had given him on Ghost and Guardian basics.

"So then they just tell them to buzz off," Blair said.

"Not from what I've seen," Kemal said. "Guardians and Ghosts don't like to be separated."

"I stand corrected, professor!" Blair laughed. Kemal flushed. He hadn't meant to sound like a know-it-all.

"I guess having a Ghost around all the time could be useful," Inacio grinned. "I'd be like: Ghost, fetch me some champagne! Play some smooth music for the lady!" He elbowed Tamara. Everyone except for Chelise laughed again.

"Yeah…good luck with that." Kemal grinned.

"We're just playing with you, Kemal," Blair laughed, slapping Kemal's shoulder. Blair professed the catechism if pressed, even though he did not wear the pearl or attend the Flame. Inacio and Tamara did not, though they tried to be respectful. Their skepticism and irreverence could be alarming sometimes, but Kemal knew they meant well.

"Don't listen to this moron," Chelise poked Blair, tearing herself away from the news program again. "Kemal, you really are in a good position to get answers to questions everyone has always wanted to know."

Kemal turned his glass around on the tabletop, feeling shy again. "I don't know if I could just go around asking questions all day."

"Why? Do they have some kind of rule against it in the Tower?" Chelise asked, unexpectedly serious.

"Well, no. It's just…"

"Don't tell me you're not even allowed to talk to anyone up there!" Chelise said. "I figured the rules were strict, but that's just ridiculous!"

"No! It's not that! It's just…I should probably get to know a Guardian or a Ghost first before I go getting nosy," Kemal finished lamely. As if he could ever do that! Or would! Surely they had nothing to say to someone like him. Of all the people at the table, Chelise should understand where he was coming from.

"What's nosy about it?" Chelise frowned. "I would expect it if I were in their position!"

"Geez, Chels! Give Kemal a break!" Blair nudged Chelise.

"What?" Chelise protested. "I'm just saying that Kemal should take advantage of his position and learn everything he can. There's so much that we don't know. And I'm not just talking about us at this table!" She caught Kemal's puzzled glance. "You can see the catechism firsthand," she explained. "You can see the Light Blessed every day. We don't have to wonder what they're thinking or doing anymore, because you can tell us!"

"They're doing what they always do," Kemal said, still taken off guard by her sudden vehemence. What was it she was hoping he would say? "They are carrying out the Will of the Light and protecting the City."

"Well, I want to know how," Chelise pressed.

"You're starting to sound like that nutjob who came onto campus the other day," Blair snorted. Chelise shut her mouth and glowered.

"What are you talking about?" Kemal asked.

"Some Cultist set himself up in the Commons during lunch yesterday and started raving about the Traveler and the Light," Inacio explained. "Campus security booted his sorry butt pretty quick. Lucky for him, 'cause I know a whole bunch of people were getting ready to jump him. Hell, I was about ready to tell him off myself."

"A Cultist?" Kemal asked. "The Trinary Star got into the College?" The idea was alarming.  
"We're not sure he was actually Trinary," Tamara said.

"Oh, come on!" Blair snorted. "It's obvious he was!"

"I'm just saying he never officially identified himself," Tamara sighed. "But yeah, it's totally obvious he was Trinary. He didn't have a wrist ID or anything on him — you know how those weirdos like to stay off the grid. Plus, what he was saying sounded like their brand of crazy. He was unbelievable!" She leaned forward eagerly, happy to relay the gossip to Kemal. "He was yelling stuff about Ghosts carrying viruses meant to infect the dead and raise an army! Can you believe it? He thinks the Guardians are some kind of alien invasion force!" She shook her head and laughed.

"I heard him say that the Traveler is the Darkness!" Blair cried.

"Oh, it gets even better. I heard him say that the Speaker was trying to keep the Traveler crippled because he's actually the Darkness!" Inacio put his hands to his head in sheer disbelief. "Ah man, it was crazy, Kemal. You've never heard anything like what this guy was preaching. I think he must have come up with a new story for every argument students threw at him."

"I better let someone in the Tower know the Trinary has been active again," Kemal said grimly.

Chelise shot him a sharp look. "Why? The Vanguard isn't afraid of them."

"I still think they'd be interested to know," Kemal said. "The Trinary has been dangerous in the past. People have been incited to riots!"

"What is the Tower going to do?" Chelise asked. "Send some Guardians to campus?"

Kemal shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Why was she suddenly so combative? "I don't think they'd go that far," he said. "They'd just…I don't know, keep an eye on them."

"You don't think they should?" Tamara asked.

Chelise saw everyone looking at her and shrugged. "Well, sure they should keep an eye on them," Chelise said. She played with the pearl around her neck. "People like the Trinary Star are crazy."

"Crazy is an understatement," Blair snorted. "People like that just need to be rounded up and shipped outside the Walls. After all the things the Trinary has done in the City, anyone who so much as whispers something bad about the Traveler should be thrown out."

"But not all dissenting opinions are bad and should be silenced." Chelise said.

The table went silent. Everyone stared at Chelise, trying to understand what she had just said. Chelise looked at Kemal, her eyes piercing.

"Do you actually believe what that Cultist was saying?" Blair asked. He gaped at Chelise in disbelief.

"No!" Chelise's voice was as hard as her eyes. "Of course not!"

"Then what are you talking about?" Blair said. "You've been acting weird all night!"

Kemal was relieved to know he wasn't the only one who thought something was out of the ordinary. His relief was immediately replaced with worry. What was wrong? Chelise was always one to debate and argue, but never like this! Chelise pursed her lips and stared at the tabletop. Everyone waited for her answer.

"You guys know I was at the Wall two days ago when rescue crews returned with the mine attack victims," she said. Kemal blinked in surprise. He had not known. "Things were messed up," she went on. "People were hurt really bad. This is a mine that supplies raw material directly to Hakke, a Foundry that everyone knows the Tower contracts with for weaponry. I don't know about you, but I haven't heard the Tower say a single thing about how this could be allowed to happen or what's going to be done about it."

"They couldn't have predicted it," Tamara said.

"Couldn't they?" Chelise asked. "Supposedly they're tracking Fallen movements all the time! The survivors said they had seen signs of Fallen in the area for weeks. If they can notice, why can't the Tower?"

Tamara shrugged uncomfortably and dropped her gaze.

"Likely they did notice," Kemal said.

"So they just let it happen?" Chelise challenged.

"No!" Kemal was aghast. Blessed Light, was she actually questioning the Tower? "I'm sure it's just that the Vanguard couldn't send out Guardians to keep watch day and night on the chance that something might happen."

"Why not?"

"Well…there aren't that many Guardians to go around in the first place. They have their duties and patrols they have to stick to."

"Isn't this important?" Chelise asked. "Couldn't somebody have been spared just to make sure everything was okay?"

"If they did that, they'd be checking out the mines a hundred times a day!" Inacio said. "There's so many people who cry wolf!"

Kemal nodded. The calling of the Light Blessed was so much grander and important than constantly checking in on a mine, even a mine of such importance to the Tower. Chelise knew that!

"Have you asked the Vanguard if that's the truth?" Chelise leaned forward in her chair, her hands on the table's edge.

"Of course not!" Kemal said.

"Don't you think you should?"

"I…" He was at a loss for words. "I didn't think I needed to."

Tamara, Blair, and Inacio looked anxiously between Chelise and Kemal.

"That's what I'm talking about," Chelise said decisively. "We assume that the Vanguard would have done something if they had suspected an attack. That's what we tell ourselves. But how do we really know they would? What if they knew but decided not to investigate? What if…what if, in the Tower's eyes, we're all expendable?"

Silence fell again. Tamara's eyes were bulging, an incredulous smile on her face. Blair shredded his napkin and chewed on his bottom lip. Inacio stared at Chelise like she had just painted the Trinary mark on her forehead and had begun preaching on the tabletop.

"The Vanguard are Guardians, Chelise," Kemal said. "The Guardians carry out the Will of the Light. You know that!"

" _I_ don't live in the Tower!" she muttered darkly.

"Chelise, do you hear yourself?" Blair asked. "You're always telling me to trust the Tower and trust in the Light. And now you're questioning it like this? You gotta stop watching the news. This mine thing has really got you worked up."

Chelise stared back at him defiantly.

"Don't you trust the Guardians?" Kemal asked.

"I do!" Chelise spluttered. "I mean, I want to! I just don't understand how they could let something like this happen!" She looked around the table, fingers twisting the chain that held her pearl. "The Tower isn't talking. Why won't they say anything? With all their glimmer, with all their power — it's enough to make anyone suspicious!"

Kemal was stunned. Chelise had never talked like this before. She had gone to the Flame every week they were in College together. As far as he knew, she still professed the catechism the same as she always had. So when had this doubt started? How had it crept in?He searched her face. Chelise avoided his gaze. Nobody knew what to say. Blair looked off over the bar. Tamara tapped at her datapad. Inacio traced the condensation on his glass and stared at the tabletop.

This was supposed to be a happy reunion. Now it was turning into exactly what Kemal had secretly always feared upon leaving for the Tower, that he'd come back and be a stranger to his own friends. Through all the smiles and laughter tonight, he'd felt the distance between them. In a way, Chelise's outburst was almost expected. This strain of trying to reconnect after a month on rapidly diverging paths…what would another month bring? A year? His heart sank.

"Let's not fight," Tamara said, her voice quavering with a halfhearted laugh. "We've all had a long day. I want to tell Kemal about what happened in the lab. Oh, my gosh! Ryu and Blair totallypranked Doctor Deneve!"

Nobody argued with Tamara. They let her relate her gossip. Slowly the mood of the table lightened, though the somber cast was never completely lifted. Their smiles remained a little tight, their laughs a little forced. Inacio bought the next round and they drank through that pitcher until the conversation lulled. Then they checked wristwatches and datapads and mumbled about the hour. They pulled on coats and warm hats and gloves. Kemal went through a line of hugs from his friends. The last was from Chelise. The others drifted to the side, giving them space.

"Are you okay?" Kemal asked quietly.

"I'm fine," Chelise said, crossing her arms.

"I didn't know you were at the Walls," he tried again. "I heard it was very bad."

"Yeah. It was." She did not elaborate.

"Have you talked with Lei?" He asked.

Chelise shrugged. "No. Why should I?"

"Maybe she can help. You could tell her how you've been feeling."

"And how have I been feeling?"

"I don't mean anything by it," he apologized.

"I know," she said. They stood in awkward silence for a few moments.

"You want a ride to the station, Kemal?" Tamara called.

"No, thanks," he said. "I'll walk. It's not far."

The interruption excused them all. They filed out of The Acorn. Kemal promised his friends that he would visit again as soon as he could. They made suggestions that this would be their usual hangout from now on. It was central to the College and the Tower, so it would be no trouble for any of them to get there. Inacio, Blair, and Tamara all headed for Tamara's car. Chelise hung back a moment.

"The Tower is lucky to have you," she said to Kemal. "Don't let them forget that." He did not know what to say, so he just smiled and thanked her. She hurried to catch up with the others. He watched her go, disappointment gripping his throat.

Chelise's words, that feeling of suddenly being an outsider, haunted Kemal all the way back to the Tower. The world was a dangerous place, especially outside the safety of the Walls. Everyone knew that. But the Guardians knew that most of all. They got a second chance at life — only to give it up in a heartbeat for the safety of the City. Yes, the Light Blessed were powerful, but even they couldn't be everywhere at once. The Darkness was unrelenting. An attack of some kind was inevitable. Wasn't it?

The train came to a stop at the Tower station. The long road stretched before him. Even through his troubles, the sight of the soaring Tower lit from below filled him with strength. This was his home now, his pride. He was making his mark on the Tower as surely as it marked him one of its own. The Tower needed the City — it was the reason the Tower existed! Kemal kept his head bowed against the wind rising off the mountains and repeated these convictions to himself as he climbed the steps to the gondola station.

First thing tomorrow, he would tell his boss what he had heard about the Trinary. Maybe she would know what to do with that information. Surely she had a network of open ears who reached all the way to the Vanguard. Then he would contact Lei-5 and tell her about Chelise, see if there was something the Flame could do to make her feel better. If there was something hecould do to make her feel better.

He flashed his ID badge at the loading bay. The security officer nodded at him.

"The Light keep you," she said.

"The Light keep you," he replied.

He was not alone on the slow ride up the cable. A few of the dock crew were sharing his car, laughing and joking as they anticipated finally getting warm inside the Tower. Kemal nodded and smiled to them but kept to himself, looking out the windows at the Traveler. He picked out the scars on its lamplit belly, reciting their names and significances. _The comet's tail, for the brief, brilliant flash of our lives. The Tower, for the Guardians who protect us. The Ship in Darkness, reflecting our times of doubt…_

What was happening to Chelise?


	5. I Found You

Her third waking was in darkness. She lashed out with a fist and hit the pillow beside her, willing away dream phantoms. The room was black, only a faint glow coming through the curtained window beyond the bed she lay on. She whimpered, caught in the sheets, so tired she could hardly figure out how to unwind herself. What was happening? Where was she now? She stared at the bars of light on the ceiling and tried to make sense of it all.

A dream. She'd had a dream. It was…what was it?

She was hot. She was thirsty. She needed to pee. Shaking, she finally freed herself from the covers and slipped out of bed, bare feet sinking into soft carpet. The air in the room felt close and stifling, even in her simple cotton shirt and shorts. She blinked sleepily at lights far outside the window.

A city. She was in a city — above it. In a tower. The Tower. But hadn't that been her dream? Memories of a bright morning in a shining, white edifice, of wailing alarms and a broken sphere and a mechanical man with a long knife and cloak sprang to mind. And before that, memories of cold and chaos, snarls and claws. Running in the night. But before that…before that was a frustrating blank wall.

She tottered across the floor, reaching out tentative hands to avoid barking her shins against any unexpected obstacles. She vaguely remembered a small hallway and a comfortable bathroom. These were her quarters now. Her place in the Tower. The Tower was here and in her dreams.

She groped at the wall and her sleep-clumsy fingers finally depressed the switch. Electric lights blazed on too bright. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink. Bleary eyes, her hair tousled, her skin shiny with sweat. She wanted to splash her face with water, but other matters pressed with more urgency.

 **Can't sleep?**

She yelped and huddled over herself on the toilet. The bathroom doorway was empty. There was nobody to be seen. It took her a few moments to realize that it was the Ghost who had spoken. Of course. There was no mistaking that voice resonating inside her head.

 **Easy, now! It's just me!** The little Ghost popped into being in front of her, blinking curiously. She startled again and huddled even tighter, face hot with embarrassment.

"Ghost!" She gasped.

Ghost flicked its fins and clicked anxiously.

 **What? What did I do?**

" _Do you mind?!_ "

It buzzed and blinked rapidly, uncomprehending. Then its bright blue eye opened wide and it turned away from her, darting to the door.

 **Oops! Sorry! Perdita warned me that a new Guardian would want a lot of privacy. I forgot.** Its little fins sagged as though it was quite disappointed with itself.

"It's fine," she mumbled, watching it warily. "Just…give me a minute, okay?"

 **There's really nothing to be embarrassed about.** Ghost chirped cheerfully, still dutifully looking out the doorway. **A Ghost knows their Guardian from the inside out. I'm a part of you.**

"Have you been with me the whole time?" she asked incredulously. "Even when I was asleep?"

The little Ghost turned to her, fins wriggling.

 **Of course!**

She frowned. Ghost remembered itself, turning around hastily.

 **You'll get used to having me around** , Ghost chirped. **Even when…uh…nature calls. I think that's the term Perdita used. Or was that Zinnia? Hmm. It's kind of a weird phrase, when you think about it…**

She began washing up, still eyeing the little creature. It continued to gaze into the darkened hall, chattering away to itself. Well, at least it was polite. And for all its masculine voice, it honestly didn't seem to register any notice of whether she was dressed or not. Perhaps it was the Ghost's complex behavior that made her feel as though it were another person intruding into the bathroom. It was just so lifelike!

"I need something to drink," she said, awkwardly excusing herself. Ghost ventured to look back at her. Finding no more scowls, it brightened up. It zipped down the hall, leaving delicate filaments of light in its wake. The kitchen lights came up to a soft glow.

 **Cold water? Or maybe room temperature for your stomach?** Ghost had already somehow procured her a glass in the water receptacle.

"Cold," she said, thinking that it was still too hot in the room. "Please." She added. If this little machine could be civil, then so could she. Ghost clicked and chirped, interfacing with the controls, and moments later a tall glass of water was sitting ready for her.

 **Drink up!** It watched her closely as she took up the glass and drank.

 **More?** it asked eagerly.

"No, thanks."

 **Are you hungry?**

She shook her head.

 **Are you sure?** Ghost pressed. **You haven't eaten all day!**

"Maybe later," she hedged. She knew she had disappointed Ghost when she refused to go to the mess hall earlier, and that her continued refusal was agitating it further. Her stomach was still uncomfortably empty, but food was the last thing on her mind right now. Besides, the way her guts churned at just the water did not bode well.

The City lights caught her eye again. Airships made bright, slow-moving constellations across the night sky. She couldn't see the Traveler from where she stood — that was Ghost's name for the enormous, broken sphere — but she fancied she could feel its presence looming nearby. She drifted to the window, gazing into the night. Her apartments were not large, only a tiny square sitting room blended into a nook that passed for the kitchen, itself hardly more than a sink and a small cold storage on a square of tile. A short hall led to the bathroom with a little bedroom at the end. There was virtually no furniture, just an empty chest of drawers in the bedroom and a leaning bookcase in the sitting room. The bed itself was a small mattress on a simple metal frame. Ghost had needed to send for sheets and pillows that morning after Jana's examination, which had arrived in the arms of a young pagegirl who would not stop staring at her. Mercifully, the girl had also brought along soap, brush and comb, and a couple changes of clothes, although all of the pants had been too short for her long legs. From the few people she had met so far in the Tower, she understood that she was unusually tall.

Everything in the rooms had been provided for her, and apparently with no expectation of payment. The pagegirl had curtsied over and over while making the bed, even mumbled apologies at the poor quality of the linens, though she could see nothing wrong with them. Even more bewildering was the young man who had come to put the finishing touches on her quarters. He had been beside himself. For all his friendly smile and eager helpfulness, his hands noticeably shook while he changed a burnt lightbulb and adjusted the shower settings. His eyes kept straying to the blood on her undersuit. Then his trembling fingers would touch the pearl he wore around his neck on a gold chain. She had barely said a word to either of them — Ghost was talkative enough for them all — and they acted like she was going to bite them!

In truth, she had almost thought she would. After the crash landing, after the examination, she had wanted nothing more than to hide. It had become quickly apparent that Ghost was going nowhere without her, a situation she could put up with at the time due to her gratefulness at his help, but she'd had no energy for any more meetings. Especially not meetings where people stammered and shivered in her presence! When she was finally able to shut the door behind the mechanic, she vowed she wouldn't open it again for anything. Ghost had followed her around the rooms soliciting her comfort and planning her day — We'll see Zavala, and then Banshee so he can repair your weapon, and then I guess we'd better apologize to Amanda — until she'd snapped at it and shut the door to the bathroom. She had expected it to just appear on the other side like it had with the ship, but it left her alone, even as she'd silently raged and laughed under a stream of hot water for a good hour. At least those Light Drunk mood swings seemed to be dying down now.

Ghost had given her a wide berth when she had at last emerged from the shower and burrowed under the covers to sleep. She'd thought it would lose interest in her and leave. How very wrong she was.

She glanced over at it. Ghost hovered nearby, its little movements a soft, silvery chime. It was watching the lights too and perked up when it saw her notice.

 **Did you have a bad dream?**

"Honestly, everything feels like a dream," she sighed. "Except I'm not even sure I remember what a dream is. I'm not sure of anything! …Does that make sense?"

She should have been apologizing for her boorish behavior earlier that morning. After all, without Ghost she would have ended up as another skull on a Fallen belt. Then again, she would have remained a skull in the snow, never having to worry about dying all over again.

 **It does** , Ghost clicked softly. **This is all perfectly normal. The days after Rebirth are a tricky time for Guardians. I'm sure you'll feel better soon.** The little Ghost sounded anxious to reassure her. Maybe to reassure itself too.

"You really don't know who I was?" she asked. "Not even a name?"

 **No.**

"How did you know where to find me?"

Ghost twitched its fins, blinking, considering.

 **I just knew. All Ghosts can tell when they have found their Guardian.**

That Guardian business again. Ghost was anxious to talk about it more. She was not. She just wanted…a name, a spark of recognition. Something!

"Were you looking for me specifically?" she asked.

 **Yes, although I didn't really know that** , Ghost clicked. **Let's just say there was a long process of trial and error.**

"So why me?" she asked.

 **Because you're my Guardian. It could be no one else.**

As kind as Ghost was being, it didn't seem to fully understand her confusion. Or maybe it thought she was the one being obtuse. What was simply was to the little creature, and she had better catch up.

"I think I just need to go back to sleep." she sighed. Whether she actually could was another story.

 **Certainly!** Ghost chirped.

She left the glass in the sink and drifted to her bed. Ghost trailed behind her, turning out the lights. The sheets had cooled somewhat since she had left them. She lay back onto the thick pillow and gazed up at the ceiling. She could hear Ghost nearby, fins twitching.

"Do you need to sleep too?" she asked, scrunching down into the covers. It really wasn't going to leave her, was it?

 **I will return to Rest** , Ghost replied. Before she could ask how a machine could rest, it merged with her as it had done in the Cosmodrome. So it really had been with her all along. She remembered her early panic at Ghost leaving her inside the wall. She did not feel that same separation anxiety anymore, not really…but this closeness was still a strange sort of comfort.

"Where did you come from?" she asked. "Did they make you here at the Tower?"

 **Make me?** Ghost chirped, decidedly amused. **I wasn't made. I was born from the Traveler.**

"Born? But you're…" She was going to say machine. She had been thinking it up to this point. Naming Ghost such now felt a little insulting. Like Cayde, it seemed to be so much more.

 **I am machinery and Light** , Ghost said, giving no hint of offense. **People of the City can fashion shells for Ghosts, but nobody except the Traveler can create one.**

"Do you remember being born?" she asked.

 **Yes.**

She envied it that.

"How old are you?"

 **Well…** Ghost buzzed and clicked, mulling the question over. **Hmm. I haven't really bothered to count in a while! Let's see…internal records indicate that I have existed apart from the Traveler for two hundred and fifty-six thousand, two hundred and thirty days, nine hours, and fourteen seconds. Or approximately seven hundred and two years.**

Her eyes popped open.

"Seven hundred and two years?!"

 **Is there something wrong with that?** Ghost sounded a little put out by her incredulity.

"I just didn't think you were that old!"

 **Oh. Well, I am.** Even in her head its buzzing sounded like a little grumble.

She chewed on her lip, considering this new information. "Did you take all that time just to find me?" she asked.

 **Yes.**

"So…so I was there the whole time, in the Cosmodrome? Dead?" It was even harder to fathom that.

 **You were. Like I said, finding you was a long process. Imagine poring over the entire planet to find one person! And I couldn't just assume you'd be on Earth in the first place. I had to search whole continents, then jog out to the Inner Planets when I could find a transport or a willing fireteam escort. Before I went to double-check the Cosmodrome I considered hitching a ride to Venus. I was worried that I had missed you in a previous scan that I had always meant to return to. But yesterday, I finally found you!** Its happiness was unmistakable.

"Are there other Ghosts still looking?"

 **Yes. I haven't come across one in some time, but they must be out there. They will find their Guardian too. If I can, so can they.**

Seven hundred and two years! She closed her eyes again and let that wash over her. Why had the little Ghost never given up?

"You couldn't have just chosen someone else?" she asked.

 **No! It had to be you!** Ghost clicked. **I came across those who could be Guardians so many times and never once felt that they were mine. It was…well, it became something of a running joke among the Warlocks in the Tower.**

"A joke?"

 **Not a very funny one** , Ghost buzzed. **They said I was being picky. Ha! They know that's not how it works! They just wanted to tease me when I was around. I liked to offer my services to the Vanguard while resting between searches.**

She imagined Ghost watching the others and anxiously awaiting its turn. If its offer of services to the Vanguard was anywhere near as zealous as the help it was giving her, she could see how people could find the humor.

"How many Guardians are there?" she asked, daring to broach the subject.

 **Far too few, if you ask me. Maybe a third are abroad so often you could say they live in the wilds or on their jumpships. The rest can be found at the Tower quite regularly, especially Titans and Warlocks.**

It was throwing out strange names again, forgetting she wouldn't understand.

"What are those?"

 **Oh! The Guardian Orders. You'll choose one eventually.**

"But I don't know anything about them," she protested.

 **Well, maybe tomorrow we could meet the Vanguard** , Ghost suggested. **You could explore the Tower, get to know the other Guardians.**

She rolled over, frowning into her pillow. She wasn't sure how she felt about getting out and about.

"Maybe."

 **You have to leave your room sometime** , Ghost chided. **At some point you've really got to get something to eat. What kind of Ghost would I be if I let you starve?**

"One free to choose another Guardian?"

It was a poor joke, and Ghost clicked in definite disapproval.

"What about this Speaker person you mentioned?" she asked.

 **We could request a meeting. You'll like him, he's very kind! The Speaker is always so pleased when a new Guardian arrives at the Tower.** Ghost's recommendation was warm and happy.

She mulled that over, wondering what this Speaker expected of her. Would he tremble and stare too?

They were silent for a time. She knew Ghost had a point. She couldn't stay locked in her room forever. Today had been easy, sleeping the hours away. But she still wasn't getting the answers she needed with only Ghost to keep her company. And she was hungry, churning stomach or not. Maybe she could at least take a look around tomorrow. Maybe.

"How did you know I was the one you were looking for?" she asked. At some point, Ghost was probably going to get very upset at her constant questioning of its choice.

 **You…well, it sounds silly…**

"What?" she prompted.

 **Okay. Don't laugh.**

"I won't."

 **When I found you, you sort of…sang to me.**

"I sang to you? How could I have done that?"

 **I don't mean literally!** Ghost clicked. **I mean, it sort of was…it felt like…oh, I don't know how to describe it!**

A small smile crept over her lips."Of all the incredible things that have happened to me so far, you don't think I'll believe this?"

What could be unnatural, when she didn't remember a single detail of her time before death? Maybe it was all a lie. Maybe this was all there ever had been. Where else was she supposed to come from? The Tower pagegirl came to mind. Surely that child was born from parents and not popped into being by a Ghost.

 **It is pretty incredible, isn't it?** Ghost interrupted her somber thoughts. **In all the whole wide System, in all the Universe, I found you.**

It was getting sentimental again. Strange to think of this little Ghost so anxious to get to her. And she was nothing special at all. Just another fledgling Guardian — whatever that meant.

 _Was no one else looking for me?_ The thought pierced her to the core. She curled up under the covers, suddenly glad for Ghost's presence to combat the utter loneliness the question fostered.

Where were her parents? Where was _her_ family?

Seven hundred years…was anyone left?


	6. Zinnia

Ghost watched over her shoulder while she stood at the plaza railing at the very top of the Tower and looked down at the world. The height was dizzying, and the early morning breeze whipped at her clothing almost hard enough to knock her off balance.

 **The Last City** , Ghost said. **Humanity's stronghold against the Darkness and the last safe place on Earth. Amazing, isn't it?**

It was. The City spread below the Tower out to the horizon, a moving, gleaming tapestry bounded by the massive Walls. Bright sunlight glinted off roadways and distant rooftops, turning them into shining ribbons and diamonds. The Traveler glowed, huge and round, looking like she could reach out and touch it. She held the railing firmly and filled her lungs with deep breaths of the cold air. She wanted to _move_. She wanted to run around the plaza until her legs gave out. She wanted to launch herself into the air and be caught on the breeze like the hawks circling the currents. That running mood had finally ousted her from her rooms. That and the need to know what had become of her hard-won ship.

The urge to do something would not let up, but she was spent after a night of fragmented dreams. Ghost was convinced she just needed something to eat in order to feel better. He didn't seem to understand how her guts still twisted at the thought of food, even though she was ravenous. After their conversation last night, she had decided it was not sufficient to think of Ghost as an 'it' any longer. He had too much personality. He was too alive. His quivering energy was no simple, rote machine. Even so, Ghost apparently didn't need any kind of sustenance besides this Rest he talked about, so he had little sympathy for her plight. The only way she had been able to quell his anxiety so far was to mumble about "looking into" some breakfast after a visit to the Hangar.

 **Don't lean out too far and fall off the Tower** , Ghost clicked. **I'd rather not have to practice Revival so soon.**

She let Ghost lead her across the plaza toward the Hangar. She stared at anyone she passed, aware she was being vulgar, unable to help herself. She was also aware that she was being stared at. A pair of Guardians strolled by ahead of her. She did not need Ghost to comment anymore in order to recognize them. She could feel their presence by something answering within her when they drew near. But she didn't understand the long, elaborate cloaks these two wore, or how they could move with such leonine grace.

 **Hunters** , Ghost chirped, following her gaze.

Part of her wanted to go and talk to them. She didn't dare. She was grateful no one stopped to talk to her. In truth, these Guardians made her nervous. She kept expecting Ghost to reveal that it was all a joke, that she was not really one of them at all. How could she possibly compare? The Hunters' eyes seemed to ask the same question, weighing her merit before they moved on.

If her ship was ready, she would just go. Maybe to the great city below the Tower, maybe all the way back to the Cosmodrome — though the thought made her shiver. There had to be somewhere she could start to make sense of everything. The Tower had so far only brought more questions…and a whole lot of expectations from Ghost.

She stepped aside at the Hangar entrance for a group of Guardians exiting the passage. Each had a helm held under their arm, each was clad in forbidding plates of armor. Though they were of different heights and sizes, when they moved together as a group she felt she was watching a living barrier pass. Swaths of colorful, fringed cloth hung from their waists, decorated with symbols she couldn't begin to guess their significance. They laughed and joked easily with each other, and despite their bulky armor and sprawling group they parted around her like water, careful to give her space. A few of them eyed her with interest, nodded politely in greeting. One, a blue-skinned woman like Jana — Awoken, Ghost called them — held a shimmering faceted globe in her hands. Its green light was bright enough to send sparkling rays over their faces. The group moved off toward the North Tower.

 **Those are Titans** , Ghost explained. **Swan's Host, I believe. Yes, you can tell by the Marks around their waists.**

A lone camera stared down over the hall into the Hangar wing. She followed Ghost down the concrete passage where it emptied into the bay. Below and to the right of the walkway they stood on, the bay's runways and workfloor opened directly to the sky at vertigo inducing height. The wind tore at cargo netting fixed below the opening fiercely enough to make her glad she wasn't standing near the edge. The workers went about their business untroubled by the chill or the immense drop. They bustled about in thick coats and earmuffs, waving and whistling to each other, throwing hand signs when the noise was too great. The Hangar was a cacophony of sound. Overhead cranes moved heavy equipment about the bay, tools barked and hissed in pneumatic coughs, and ship engines roared.

She could not see her own ship anywhere. The craft she saw now were bright, sleek, new things, all sharp edges and gleaming paint. Her own must have been quite a sight for the crew. Covered in rust, pockmarked and dented…flying in with engines smoking…

She glanced around the workfloor. No evidence of a major crash, thank goodness.

Ghost led her across the walkway and down metal stairs to a staging floor for production and repair. A handful of technicians were engrossed in their duties around light vehicles, tapping at diagnostic pads or rooting around in engines. Some of the workers glanced up as they passed, giving polite nods before returning to their business.

 **Those are Sparrows** , Ghost remarked, blinking at one fully-assembled example hanging from a rack. **Thrust bike ground transport. They're easy enough to come by that the Tower issues one to each new Guardian. We should get yours today!**

She paused to look at it with Ghost. If she accepted a Sparrow, what would the Tower expect of her in return?

Ghost looked to a small dais above them.

 **Oh, good! Amanda is here! It can be a little difficult to get a meeting with the shipwright. She's awfully busy.**

She could imagine — especially with new arrivals crashing in her Hangar. She followed Ghost up the dais stairs, wondering what she was in for. Cayde's recounting of the incident didn't sound promising. The shipwright stood poring over blueprints at a long worktable. She wore a red scarf and thick coat against the chill morning, her shaggy blonde hair windswept.

"Guardian on deck," a nearby crewman called as she stepped up to the bench. Amanda turned from her work. Her freckled face lit up in a genuine smile at the sight of Ghost. The shipwright was younger than she'd expected, hardly looking out of her twenties.

"There's the little troublemaker!" Amanda grinned She wagged a finger at Ghost. Her short nails were stained with grease, her fingerless gloves black with it.

Ghost's fins pinched together, a little wince.

 **Oh, about that…**

"I knew you'd be eager to get back here once you found a Guardian, but that entrance took the cake!" Amanda laughed. She recognized the shipwright's twang as the voice from the comms. "Welcome to the Tower, Guardian. Glad you're here in one piece!"

She felt like wincing too.

"Sorry for the trouble."

"Don't worry 'bout it." Amanda leaned a hip against her worktable. "Ain't the first time we've had a ship come in hot. Won't be the last. We got the emergency netting up in time, so your bird is still in one piece — as much as it was in the first place. What hellhole did you dredge an Arcadia up from? I ain't seen one of those outside a handful of blueprints!"

 **The Cosmodrome** , Ghost chirped proudly. **Snatched it right out from under the Fallen!**

Snatched made it sound much simpler than the reality.

"Shoot," Amanda grinned. "Thought we'd scoured that place clean by now. The Devils must be diggin' deep to find another jumpship. Well, I gave her a quick look last night. There's a lot of work to be done and a long line ahead. If you can wait a week or so, I'll have her back to you good as new. Better, even." Her grin was confident. A week? She didn't know what she had expected, but a week made her uneasy. What was she supposed to do until then? How could she leave?

 **That will leave us plenty of time to get acquainted with the Tower** , Ghost said, fins spinning happily.

She looked to the shipwright. Amanda's expression was pleasant, but something in her blue eyes brooked no argument. She was not going to rearrange her schedule for one fledgling Guardian. Especially a fledgling Guardian who caused trouble in her Hangar.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Amanda said. "In the meantime, I can fix you up with a Sparrow. There's a couple ready to go right now. We'll get one stowed aboard your ship. The Arcadia's sync-ups don't need fixin', Ghost, so you can have it on transmat whenever you need."

 **Excellent!** Ghost clicked, before she could say anything. Amanda turned away to make a note on her datapad.

 **We're a long ways ahead of most new Guardians since we've already got a ship** , Ghost said. **After a good few weeks of training in the Tower, we'll be ready to go!**

She stared at him. Now it was a few weeks? What exactly was he expecting her to do?

"I'm afraid I ain't got a single NLS drive in stock," Amanda said. "They've been scarce, and I just put my last one in a refurbed Misfit. Looks like the Fallen liberated yours. Maybe even a scavver. That ship is old."

 **We'll find one** , Ghost said, without a hint of doubt.

Amanda smiled at him, tapping a few finishing touches on her datapad.

"Find two and I'll make it worth your while." She tossed the datapad onto the table. Its screen was scratched and dirty. Around the Hangar, it seemed nothing stayed pristine for long. "Okay, it's a done deal, Guardian! Like I said, give me about a week and —"

A sharp whistle from the workfloor made Amanda turn around. She waved at the crewmen below.

"Whoops, that's my cue," she said, gathering up a cloth brace of tools and the datapad. "Beg your pardon. I'll let you know as soon as she's ready!"

Amanda trotted down the dais stairs, stepped over a rope meant to keep onlookers off the runway, and jogged across the landing pad. Standing around talking didn't appear to be something the shipwright could indulge in for long.

She wandered back to the plaza, Ghost chattering away at her side.

 **We should visit Banshee. Your rifle was in slightly better condition than the ship. He said he can at least get a new sight for it! No charge for a new Guardian!**

She stared off over the railing, not willing to commit to any particular course of action. A week at least. A few more if Ghost had his way. But where else was she going to go?

Her stomach rumbled. Ghost looked at her curiously.

 **Should I show you to the kitchens first?** he asked hopefully.

"I can order something from my rooms, can't I?" she asked, still looking over the City.

 **You can** , Ghost clicked reluctantly. **But don't you want to see more of the Tower?**

 _No_ , she wanted to answer him. _I want to know who I am. I want to know why I'm a Guardian. I want…_ her stomach rumbled again.

 _I want breakfast._

Ghost narrowed his eye at her.

"Lead the way," she sighed.

They rode the Tower's central elevator down a floor before it stopped. The doors slid open and a stern, straight-backed man strode into the car. He wore a rich black silk coat, heavily embroidered in gold thread from the high collar all the way to the hem brushing his boot tops. Another Guardian.

"The armory, if you please," he said curtly.

It took her a moment to realize he meant for her to depress the button. She hesitated. Which floor would that be…?

He saved her the trouble, reaching in front of her and selecting the button himself. His dark eyes were hard and annoyed for a moment. Then they smoothed into…something else. An expression that wasn't happy, but at least no longer upset. A very piercing expression, piercing in a way that differed from those Hunters on the promenade. Where their eyes had weighed, his pinned her to the spot. They were not warm eyes.

"Ah. You're new here, aren't you?" His voice was as crisp as his clothing. Everything about him looked severe, from his precisely cut short black hair to his shined boots. Even the planes of his face were sharp and angular, lending him a distinguished, handsome bearing.

"Yes."

There was a deep black band around his left arm. It kept drawing her eyes like a magnet. Despite the bright lights of the elevator car, the glassy smooth circlet reflected nothing.

"I thought as much. I can see the Light in your eyes. You have not been among us for long."

"Ghost found me two days ago," she said. Ghost was curiously silent. He blinked at the man over her shoulder. The Guardian's cold eyes lingered on her as the elevator began to descend.

"How fortunate," he said. "Welcome to the Tower." It hardly sounded like a welcome at all.

"Thank you."

"I am Guardian Shenu, First Mentor of the Warlocks. Perhaps you shall be my pupil before long." That piercing gaze belied a hint of doubt. She could feel her polite smile wanting to fade. Not from his dubiousness as much as from the chill of his presence. There was something about him that put her hackles up. Something more than his cold formality. She kept his gaze, easy to do since they stood at near the same height. In fact, she was a little taller.

"Perhaps," she answered diplomatically.

"You should take your time with the decision. Don't let excitement get in the way of a clear choice." His eyes flicked to Ghost. She ventured another polite smile. They rode in silence a few moments more. The elevator slowed and came to a stop.

 **This is where we get off** , Ghost announced. She stepped out of the car, Ghost sticking to her side. The Warlock Mentor stepped forward and put his hand to the doors to stall their closing.

"Tell me, do you remember anything?" he asked.

"You mean from before Ghost found me?"

"Yes."

She shook her head. "I don't."

He continued to stare at her as if he hadn't heard her answer. She shifted uncomfortably. The first person to actually take an interest in her memories, and she couldn't wait to be away from him. He wasn't even blinking! At last he nodded and stepped back into the elevator.

"Keep trying." The doors slid shut.

 **Sorry about that** , Ghost chirped. **I hoped we wouldn't run into Shenu for a while. He's…well, he's a bit intense.**

"So I see. Are all Warlocks like that?"

 **Oh, no!** Ghost buzzed in his haste to reassure her. **Most of them are far more, er, personable. Usually. Don't let him sour your opinion!**

"I feel sorry for his students," she said.

 **So do I** , Ghost buzzed. **If you ask me, he's got his vestments on too tight. Still, if you become a Warlock, you might not be trained by him directly. There are other Mentors.**

The hall she stepped into was filled with the unmistakable aroma of food. Her mouth instantly began to water.

"Do I have to choose an Order?" she asked.

Ghost's fins twitched.

 **Well…** he seemed taken aback by the question. **Technically speaking, I suppose not. But why wouldn't you? It's good for Guardians to be around peers who can train them. Each Order has developed innovative ways to shape and use their Light.**

"Has anyone ever not chosen an Order?"

 **I've heard of one or two Guardians who held out for a while.** Ghost sounded reluctant to admit that. **Ah! Here we are!**

Wide double doors led into the cafeteria. The clatter of dishes and the rumble of conversation were as overwhelming as the Hangar to her nerves. She wasn't sure if she was still reeling from the effects of being Light Drunk or if she could blame it on the boggling enthusiasm of her new world. She almost turned around. But the food smelled divine. Maybe she could take a little tray back to her room. Ghost hadn't said anything about actually _eating_ here…

More curious glances followed her to the buffet line. She kept her eyes fixed on the food. There was no shortage of options. Eggs, sausage, and bacon mounded in hot dishes. There was toast, fruits of all kinds — some she had no names for — plates of cheese and vats of porridge.

 **Take it easy** , Ghost cautioned her as she began to pick out items for her tray. **Remember what Jana said!** As if he hadn't just been telling her off for no appetite all!

At the very end of the buffet counter sat a gorgeous plate of pastries. They were heaped in a sugary, sticky tower that looked too good to eat. She paused in front of it. Surely just one more item would be fine for her to try.

The next decision was to find somewhere to sit.

 **There's some members of Swan's Host** , Ghost said, flicking his fins at a group of Titans clustered at a long table. Their trays were absolutely loaded down. They spent as much time laughing and talking as eating.

 **We should join them!** he chirped. She just about snatched him out of the air, afraid he would start calling to them.

"How about a window seat," she said, setting her tray down on the nearest little table. It only had a single chair, and one leg of the table was too short, causing it to lean with the slightest pressure. Nobody would want to join her here. Ghost spun his fins, looking like he wanted to argue. It was getting easier to read him, each little blink and twitch as expressive as a face. He gave up any argument when she sat down and began to eat, opting instead to just watch. That was a small mercy, but if he was thinking about counting how many times she chewed, she might have to scream.

She started with the pastry. It looked too good to wait. After one bite, she practically crammed the entire thing into her mouth. How could anything taste so good? If she could eat only one thing forever, it would be this delight. Lemon and sweet and just the right amount of tart — had food always been so wonderful?

She ate, feeling her mood at last begin to brighten. It seemed Ghost was right — all she had needed was a good meal. Indeed, the Tower was looking a lot less daunting without an empty stomach. She supposed she could wander around a little bit. Duck into a few rooms. Just a little investigation, to see what this place was about.

The bit of eggs on her plate disappeared, mopped up with toast, and she was just wondering about a second pastry when a curious little spectacle approached the buffet counter. At first, she thought it must be a Tower pagegirl sent to deliver goods to the kitchens. The figure tottering down the line was small and slight, balancing a stack of heavy books that stretched up from her trembling arms to cover her face. The stack bowed precariously in places, making the unfortunate bearer turn on her heel and sway to keep them from toppling. She caught a glimpse of blue skin and reddish hair.

She continued to eat, frowning at the sight. If this girl didn't set these books down soon, she was going to lose the whole pile. Well, it was none of her business. The girl was undeterred. She stopped in front of the pastry tray, face still hidden behind the tall stack.

She and Ghost watched, incredulous, as a small blue hand snuck out toward the pastries. The girl snatched up a scone. The books tipped forward ominously, headed for the buffet. Before she could think better of it, she rushed over and only just managed to put a hand up to keep the slipping books on top of the stack. Of course, that only made her collide with the girl, who gave a startled squeak. The books tumbled. Thick, hardcover tomes splatted to the tile floor. All heads turned their way, conversation ceasing.

Vivid green eyes blinked back at her in a heart-shaped pale blue face. This was no pagegirl, though the woman's tiny stature and round cheeks gave her a youthful air. This was another Guardian. Her garments were like Shenu's — though in a cheerful red instead of his dignified black — and she had a simple, thin silver circlet wrapped around her left arm. Another Warlock.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you!" the little Warlock gasped. A strand of curly hair fell into her eyes, escaping from a messy bun that was tied precariously on the crown of her head. She still clutched the pastry.

"It's all right," she assured the Guardian. Thank goodness this Warlock didn't seem to be as stuffy as the Mentor. She had half expected a tongue lashing about watching where she was going. "I guess I did more harm than good."

Not wanting to be rude, she knelt to pick up the fallen books. The Warlock swept down to help her, murmuring her thanks, holding the pastry in her teeth. They piled the books on her wobbly table. The cafeteria began to go back to their conversations. She could still feel eyes on her, though.

"I'm Zinnia," The Warlock said. She wiped her brow with her sleeve. There were large ink stains on the cuffs. She spit out the scone in one hand and held out the other. "You must be the new Guardian everyone's been talking about!"

"That's me," she replied, shaking hands. She didn't dare ask what they had been saying. Probably had to do with the Hangar.

"What's your name?" Zinnia asked, eyes sparkling.

"Uh…"

The Warlock broke into a wide smile. There was a little gap between her front teeth.

"You don't have one! Oh wow, you are brand new!"

She shrugged, glancing back at her tray. Maybe she could just excuse herself now…

"Don't worry, hardly anybody picks their own name anymore. Otherwise, I certainly wouldn't be stuck with Zinnia!"

"That's a nice name," she offered.

"It's a flower!" the Warlock scoffed, her nose wrinkling in distaste. "How in the Light is a Guardian supposed to strike fear into the Darkness with a _flower_?"

Despite Zinnia's protesting, the name fit her perfectly, from her sunny smile to her bright curls. She wouldn't say it, but Zinnia hardly looked the part of a Guardian at all. Not compared to the others she'd seen. She fairly towered over the Warlock — everyone in the Tower had to be taller than Zinnia! — but it wasn't just her height. There was just something about her that made the designation seem so…improbable.

"I'm sure you'll manage." she said.

Zinnia beamed again. It looked like she was in no hurry to be on her way.

"Where are you going with all of those?" she asked, gesturing at the books. She didn't really care, but she wanted to be polite.

Zinnia's smile turned into a scowl. She swiped irritably at another escaped strand of hair. Her emotions appeared to be just as hard to control. "To the Archives!" she muttered. "Master Rahool insisted I collect all the overdue volumes from the Praxics. Do you know how hard it is to pry a book away from a Warlock?" She put her fists on her hips and shook her head. The strand of hair fell back into her eyes. "I'm surprised Sahen didn't hang me by my ankles over the promenade when I asked for them back! Then again, I guess that's more of a Hunter's style."

She put a hand to her mouth, her eyes going wide.

"Oops! You're not a Hunter, are you?"

"I'm not anything."

"Oh, good! Then there's hope for you yet!" Zinnia's green eyes twinkled merrily. "I was going to track down Boone to help, but he'd probably just take them for himself. And I definitely can't pry books out of his hands." She rolled her eyes.

"Boone is a Warlock too?" she ventured.

"Oh, no! Boone's a Titan, but he reads like a Warlock. Sometimes I think he missed his calling. Except for how much he likes to punch things. Huh. Titans!"

She couldn't share the Warlock's laughter at her own joke. Punching…?

"Anyways, I'm hungry! Zinnia cried. "The Archives can wait! Let's get something to eat!" She leaned over the counter, eagerly perusing the plate of pastries.

Like it or not, she had just gained company for the remainder of breakfast. She considered making some kind of excuse and realized she had nothing to fall back on that wasn't outright hiding under the covers. So she remained at the wobbly table with the load of books, picking at the rest of her tray while the Warlock grabbed her own breakfast.

It didn't take long to come to the conclusion that hanging around Zinnia was an experience. The little Warlock chatted constantly. She waved her hands as she chatted, and was not so keen on where her sleeves trailed. She changed topics on a whim and rattled off on obscure points of knowledge. Her sparkling green eyes took in everything, always with a playful glint. Everything was amusing to Zinnia. Everything made her laugh or exclaim in wonder. From the very start of their chance meeting she had been approachable, and she showed no hint of aloofness. As they talked — or rather, Zinnia talked and she tried to keep up — a few Guardians passed by. The Titans usually had a wave for Zinnia, which she happily returned. The Hunters would grin and elbow each other, taking in her table companion as though there was a joke in there somewhere. The Warlocks studiously ignored her.

"So where exactly are the Archives?" she asked in a rare lull in the conversation. She supposed she might as well take advantage of another Guardian's knowledge of the Tower.

"You haven't been to the Archives yet?" Zinnia cried, licking pastry crumbs off of her fingers. The Warlock ate with startling appetite, packing away three scones while she still worked on finishing her first plate.

"I haven't gotten around to it," she muttered, avoiding Ghost's eye.

"We'll fix that!" Zinnia announced gleefully. "You'll want to know where to find the Cryptarchs when they're not on the promenade."

"What will I need to find Cryptarchs for?" she asked, trying out the unfamiliar word.

"Wow, you are brand new!" Zinnia grinned. "It's a good thing you ran into me. A lot of Guardians like to play jokes on the newcomers." She sounded more than a little cheerful about that. "You can think of the Cryptarchs as your one-stop shop for every artifact, symbol, and bit of Golden Age hearsay you want the real story about," she explained. "They also decrypt engrams. That's really why most Guardians ever pay them a visit."

"Engrams…?"

 **Remember what those Titans were holding?** Ghost chimed in.

"Oh. I don't have anything like that," she admitted.

"Of course not! You probably haven't even been out of the Tower since your Ghost found you — oh! You need to meet Perdita!" Zinnia thrust out her hand, palm up. A moment later, her Ghost popped into being.

"Perdita, look! It's the new Guardian! You know, the _Golden Age_ Guardian!"

 **It's a pleasure to meet you. Welcome home,** the little Ghost greeted her. Its voice was female, crisp and precisely accented. Her calm composure was starkly contrasted against Zinnia's exuberance.

"Thank you," she murmured. Again with the mention of the Tower as home, and here she was wondering when she could leave. Not wanting to be impolite and leave out her own Ghost, she gestured at her shoulder.

"This is my Ghost…er, Ghost." Was she supposed to have named him already?

 **How do you do** , Ghost clicked at Perdita.

 **We've met, actually** , Perdita chirped. Was it her imagination, or were the Ghosts' tones a little cool?

" _I_ haven't met him, Perdita!" Zinnia sighed. She turned a sweet smile to Ghost. "It's very good to meet you, Ghost. You've chosen yourself a fine Guardian, if you ask me!"

 **Er, thanks.** Ghost replied.

She raised an eyebrow at him. He flicked his fins and surveyed the room.

Perdita hovered to Zinnia's shoulder.

 **We'd better get to the Archives soon. You know Master Rahool doesn't like to be kept waiting. He'll be upset if we don't hurry along!** It was less a suggestion and more a lecture. She had the feeling Perdita had her fins busy with the Warlock.

Immediately Zinnia turned sulky.

"We can't have precious Master Rahool getting upset now, can we?" she grumbled.

 **Not if you want to be reshelving the entire history section tonight!** Perdita replied crisply. **Come on! You said you were only going to grab a snack!**

Zinnia flushed, a curious sight on her blue skin.

"Fine!" she sighed. "Come on, I'll show you to the Archives!" Her scowl disappeared under the prospect of playing tour guide. The Warlock hopped off her chair and began gathering up books.

She didn't see any way out of Zinnia's offer that wouldn't sorely disappoint the little Warlock. Ghost blinked at her and flicked a fin at the books.

She scooped up half the pile. Their stacks were tall enough to make both of them have to look around to see where they were going. Zinnia began the trek out of the cafeteria — and stopped abruptly at the pastry tray to consider it again. She couldn't still be hungry, could she?

"Ooh! That one looks like lemon!" Zinnia exclaimed. "Master Rahool _loves_ lemon scones. I'll bet he doesn't even notice the hour if we bring him one!" She somehow shuffled a hand free and snatched up the scone, disregarding what had happened the last time she had pulled that stunt. Zinnia frowned as she considered where to put it. She made as though to hold it in her teeth, then thought better of it and perched it on top of her stack of books. She nodded, satisfied, and marched off toward the doors.

There was nothing for it but to follow. Zinnia strode along with a purpose, messy bun bobbing up and down with each step. They must have been an odd sight, loaded down with books and weaving through the crowds that now wandered the thoroughfares of the Tower. Zinnia rattled on a stream of commentary as they walked. The Warlock hardly looked where she was going while she talked. Both civilians and fellow Guardians gave her a wide berth.

At last they reached a set of tall bronze doors, richly engraved in geometric patterns and nestled into the white walls of the Tower. With some difficulty, they squeezed through the heavy doors with their books. The chirping birds, the footsteps and bells and flapping banners, all disappeared as soon as the doors creaked shut behind them.

The Archives were quiet and still. A colorful rose window cut into the vaulted ceiling let in some of the morning sun to dapple the atrium's white and gold tiled floor. Lanterns hung from the ceiling burned low, casting their soft light between tall, narrow windows where dust motes sparkled. There was a calmness and solemnity to the hall that made her feel like her own breathing was too loud. Well, she was carrying a lot of books. Books that were getting very heavy. How long had Zinnia fought with the entire stack by herself?

Hallways branched from the atrium in three directions. She could see rows of massive bookshelves stretching away down each corridor, punctuated by display cabinets and study tables. Zinnia didn't hesitate as she strode down the central hallway. She did not pay any mind to the way her voice bounced around the halls when she spoke.

"Master Rahool is probably in his study," Zinnia explained. "He's had a load of paperwork to go through since getting out of his meeting with Executor Hideo. Extra points to us for bringing the scone. Those meetings always put him in a bad mood! Come on, I'll introduce you! He'll want to meet our newest Guardian!"

She opened her mouth to ask if now was such a good time, but Zinnia had already turned into an open doorway. She followed and found herself standing at the threshold of a small room. Every wall was lined with books, neatly arranged on shelves that went clear to the ceiling. Between the handsome cases, smaller cabinets showed off curios and artifacts, half of which she had no idea their purpose. Models of jumpships and strange flying machines hung from the ceiling. Maps covered every inch of remaining space, many of them hand drawn and yellowed with age. The room looked like it could be some kind of catch-all storage, except everything had an orderly sense of display about it.

A large desk dominated the floor. There, the order ended. Papers and books and diagrams spilled over each other, some hanging over the edges of the desk, held up by one corner in the grip of an overwhelmed paperweight. Pens and datapads were scattered about, and more than one mug. Behind the chaos, sitting in a scroll-carved chair, an older Awoken man was reading a sheaf of papers and biting the end of a silver pen in consternation. An ornately trimmed cowl covered his head, blending into fine earthen and gold robes.

"I'm back!" Zinnia announced.

"Blessed Light!" the man yelped, jumping in his chair and yanking the pen from his teeth. He sighed upon catching sight of Zinnia. "What ever happened to knocking?"

"Your door is open, Cryptarch," Zinnia replied smoothly.

He blinked luminous golden eyes at the open doorway behind them and frowned."Oh. Well, for the love of the Light, there's no need to shout!" His gaze shifted to the books in their hands, landing on the scone still sitting atop Zinnia's stack. His frown deepened.

Zinnia shuffled over to a smaller wooden chair in front of the desk and set her books down with a relieved grunt. She motioned for her to do the same.

"Master Rahool, I want to introduce you to our newest Guardian," Zinnia said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "The Golden Age Guardian!" Zinnia smiled proudly up at her, as though she had discovered her and not Ghost.

Master Rahool stood at once, smoothing his robes, his frown disappearing.

"Forgive me. Where are my manners? You are welcome to the Archives, Guardian."

His square-jawed face and prominent nose, the fine lines around his eyes, all lent him a stern quality, but his smile to her was genuine and kind. He spoke with a hint of an accent that she hadn't heard around the Tower yet. His whole demeanor, now that his initial surprise at company was over, was one of regal dignity and control. Were it not for the absence of that strange sympathetic pulling, she would have sworn he was a Warlock Mentor himself.

"I am Master Rahool, the head of the Tower Cryptarchy. Our Order is at your service." He clasped his hands and inclined his head in a small bow, much like Jana had done. These Awoken did like their ceremony. Well, except for Zinnia. She seemed to be the exception for quite a few things.

"Pleased to meet you," she replied. It was also a pleasure to let go of those books! "Zinnia took it upon herself to show me around."

Master Rahool's piercing gaze snapped back to the Warlock, who was toying with a little globe on his desk. His lips pursed in censure, dark eyebrows knitting together. "That would explain her lateness, I presume," he said. His smile returned, but it didn't hold the same warmth as before when he looked at the little Warlock.

Zinnia snatched up the scone without missing a beat. "I brought you something from the kitchens! Look! It's as if Ella knew you'd be in meetings all morning!" She waggled the pastry under the Cryptarch's large nose. He regarded it with undisguised suspicion.

"A side trip to the kitchens?" he grunted. "I should have known."

"It's lemon!" She prompted.

The Cryptarch sighed and took it from her hand. "Must I remind you that books are not plates?" he snapped. At a loss for where to deposit the pastry on the messy desk, he opted to perch it on a nearby mug. Zinnia let the reprimand sail past her. She casually picked a crumb off of a leather cover and popped it in her mouth.

"You can chew on that instead of your pens," she said cheerfully. "You owe Katilyn five glimmer now. Put it in the bad habit jar!"

Master Rahool's expression went even darker. She had no idea what kind of longstanding battle was going on between these two, but it was certainly entertaining.

"You may take those volumes back to the Archives, Zinnia." The Cryptarch said. "I think the histories need some special attention."

The little Warlock crossed her arms over her chest. Her green eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"We were supposed to work on engram decryption!" she protested.

"That was an hour ago."

"When will I have my lesson?"

"After the archiving, I would imagine," Master Rahool replied dryly.

"But that will take forever!" Zinnia cried. "You said we could decrypt today!"

"Then you'd better get started, hadn't you?"

The Cryptarch had no sympathy for her plight. Zinnia wasn't going to be dismissed so easily.

"How about just one quick lesson?" she persisted. "It would be good for our new Guardian to see! You don't want her to be confused when she's talking to the other Guardians, do you?"

Master Rahool's flat stare was challenged ounce for ounce by Zinnia. Somehow she didn't think she should get in the middle of this.

"Come on," Zinnia wheedled. "Who can beat a demonstration from the master of decryption himself?"

Master Rahool sighed again.

"Light! Fine!"

Zinnia clapped her hands in excitement. The Cryptarch held up a warning finger.

"Just one, and then it's off to the shelves with you. No more dawdling!"

"Yes, sir!" Zinnia gave the Cryptarch a smart salute. He was not amused.

"You are welcome to observe, Guardian, as I attempt to teach Zinnia the finer points of decryption." His jab did not rattle the Warlock one bit.

She nodded. She suspected Zinnia would look for any excuse to get out of shelving, but these engrams did sound kind of important. Besides, she had nothing better to do.

"Go fetch an engram from Katilyn," Master Rahool instructed the Warlock. Zinnia practically flew out the door, leaving her alone with the head Cryptarch. He frowned at the doorway and shook his head.

"That girl ought to come with a warning label," he grumbled. "Be on your toes with that one, or she'll put you there herself. I trust you haven't had any, ah, misfortunes around her?"

She only smiled, unsure of what he was getting at. Sure, Zinnia was…well, exuberant. But misfortunes?

"No, Cryptarch," she answered.

"Lucky for you," he muttered. He tugged on his cowl, arranging it though it hadn't needed arranging. "Please, make yourself comfortable," he said. While not unkind, the Cryptarch seemed a little awkward receiving visitors. Both of them glanced around the study, realizing the futility of the request. There wasn't really any place to make comfortable.

Something soft brushed against her leg. She looked down to see an enormously fat orange tomcat rubbing its whiskers against her shins. She bent down to scratch its ears. The cat purred like a jumpship taking off. It wound its way through her legs, sniffed delicately at her fingers with a fleshy pink nose, and then gathered its considerable haunches and launched itself onto the desk with an audible thud. The Cryptarch was busying himself clearing a section of desk, tucking papers into a black leather folder. The cat bumped up against his hands, still purring away.

"Ah, Ebla! Rascal! Always where you're not needed!" Master Rahool reprimanded the cat. Ebla sat down on the leather folder and regarded the Cryptarch with eyes nearly the same golden color as his own.

"Haven't you been fed already?" the Cryptarch growled, trying to pull the folder out from under the cat's bulk. Ebla was as unmoved as the City's Walls. "Why don't you go catch a mouse or something, you useless furball? Goodness knows they're helping themselves to the manuscripts while you're lazing around!" At last he freed the folder and turned away to place it between several large tomes on a shelf behind the desk. "It's all that cream Zinnia sneaks from the kitchens to give you. Now you know you don't have to work for your supper!"

Ebla merely twitched his tail and craned his neck to examine the scone perched on the mug.

"Forgive the poor hospitality," the Cryptarch said, turning back to the desk and shooing Ebla away from the scone. "I should have had Zinnia bring up a pot of tea with the engrams. Today has already been a rather hectic one, I'm afraid." He bustled around the desk to the little chair holding the books and began to pick through them.

"Please, don't trouble yourself," she said. Maybe she really should leave. It might not be too late…

"Oh, it's no trouble at all! I expect Zinnia wouldn't be opposed to heading back to the kitchens." The Cryptarch paused over one of the slimmer books in the stack. "Hmm. I ought to keep this one handy. It might come in useful for the scouting at Widow's Court. This one too. _Tsk!_ Leave it to Sahen to horde every scrap on the European Dead Zone! Oh, Blessed Light! I've been looking for that one!" He gathered another book into the crook of his arm and dug through the stack with renewed purpose, collecting a few more and muttering to himself all the while. She looked on, apparently forgotten.

"Do many Guardians work for the Cryptarchy?" she ventured.

Master Rahool blinked at her, surprised by the question.

"What? Oh. Er, Zinnia is…a special case. Not to worry, you won't be saddled with any Archive duty yourself!" He chuckled as if to reassure her.

Zinnia returned, carrying one of the strange glowing objects she had seen earlier that morning. Multi-faceted and emitting a pale blue light, it shimmered and hummed in the Warlock's small hands.

"Ah, excellent," Master Rahool said. "Bring it here."

Zinnia handed over the engram, her big green eyes reflecting its glow. The Cryptarch set it on the small space he had cleared on the desk. Zinnia crowded next to him. Ebla bestirred himself to go to the Warlock, purring happily. Zinnia showered his furry head with kisses. Master Rahool took a seat in the desk chair.

"All right, Zinnia," he said, clearing his throat and taking on an instructional tone. "Begin by telling me what we have here in front of us."

Zinnia furrowed her brow in concentration. There was an eager glint in her eyes. She was up to the challenge.

"A Class C Decoherent Engram," Zinnia recited. "Class C meaning the information it contains is likely moderately rare." She put slim fingers on the engram and nudged it around. It shimmered and hummed, spilling patterns of light onto the desk.

"Yes, Class C," she confirmed.

"How can you tell?"

"First of all, the color. The old Golden Age cataloging system still holds true today, that the blue spectrum denotes artifacts of cultural significance or implements of war not available to the general public. Secondly, its pulse conforms to common rhythms seen in Class C engrams." Zinnia sounded quite confident as she relayed her reasoning to the head Cryptarch. "And thirdly — " here Zinnia cut off, putting a finger to her lips and frowning.

"Go on," Master Rahool prompted.

"Well, it just occurred to me…" Zinnia said slowly, still frowning down at the engram. "Perhaps the pitch of its hum can give us a clue to the contents? I seem to remember our last example of a Decoherent Class C was within this tonal range." She glanced at the Cryptarch, the first hint of uncertainty in her eyes.

Master Rahool actually had a genuine smile for her. "That's a very astute observation," he said, sounding pleased — and perhaps a little surprised. "Not many pick up on that. However, I'm afraid it's not very beneficial to engram identification. While there appears to be an overarching pattern to the tones, there are too many outliers once the actual decryption has taken place. No one has been able to make a definitive rule on pitch and engram class which binds them all into a cohesive family."

Zinnia stared at the engram, still tapping her lips with a finger.

"They haven't been able to formulate a rule _yet_." She said.

Master Rahool raised an eyebrow.

"That's a riddle that has plagued the Cryptarchy for at least a hundred years. If you can come up with a plausible theory, I daresay you would be immediately promoted to Adept."

Zinnia grinned.

"Or maybe to Master?"

"Let's not be hasty," Master Rahool grunted. Zinnia looked undeterred.

"All right," he said, handing the engram over to the Warlock. "Begin the decryption."

Zinnia's expression was immediately all business again. Her face glowed in the engram's cool light, making her already blue skin even more saturated. Her hands ran over its surface. She probed different points, held it close and examined it for a long time. Eventually, she realized that Zinnia was touching the artifact in sequence. Her fingers pressed certain points in a repeated pattern — though it was no pattern that she could understand. After a time of silent concentration where they all looked on, Zinnia hesitated.

"You're faced with a choice now, do you see?" Master Rahool spoke up. Zinnia nodded.

"It was all pretty straightforward up until now," Zinnia admitted. She chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought. "The activation sequence isn't too difficult — it's the standard sixteen-tone pattern that you showed me last time — but…it's diverging?" She seemed unsure what to call the problem she faced. The Cryptarch nodded in agreement.

"Yes, it is," he said, leaning forward in his chair to get a better look. "Good. I'm glad this showed up. You needed to see one like this." His eagerness belied all trace of his earlier reluctance to instruct.

"Which way should I go?" Zinnia asked.

"That's up to you," Master Rahool replied.

"But which way is correct?"

"It depends on what you mean by correct. In actuality, all paths are correct. The more complex forms of encryption, like this one, were encoded in such a way that the information within could be accessed several different ways depending on what the user intended the outcome to be. Think of it as an index to a book. The material in the book is all in one unit, but choose a certain page over another and you get a different sentence. Remember, modifications to engram matter will be made once a path is chosen. The modifications can be very slight, hardly noticeable at all, or they can be quite drastic."

"That seems inconvenient," Zinnia said.

"Perhaps," Master Rahool shrugged. "Or you could think of it as an opportunity to present a Guardian with something they didn't even think was possible."

"So you're advocating smoke and mirrors?" Zinnia asked, eyes widening. Master Rahool gave her a level stare. Even with her standing above him, he still somehow managed to look down his prominent nose at her.

"Don't be ridiculous. I only mean to say that a Guardian could be resigned to an engram containing newspapers…and then you present them with a Golden Age rifle schematic."

"Is that possible?" Zinnia looked doubtful.

"Quite. Stranger things have happened. Why, I remember several years ago I decrypted the blueprints for Hunter Temil's favorite sniper rifle out of an engram that for all the world looked like it was going to be merely a child's book. He was all set to give it to Jana's niece! I daresay he was a good deal more pleased with the sniper." Master Rahool grinned in satisfaction at the memory. "Unfortunately, he had already promised the child a gift for her birthday. We were able to help him out there, too."

"You're the one responsible for Temil's sniper?" Zinnia asked in astonishment. "So we have you to thank for his incessant bragging over that thing! Ugh!"

"Yes. Well. I only decrypt," Master Rahool did not sound concerned. "What a Guardian does with the item is up to them. Now, back to the task at hand. Which path will you choose?"

Zinnia considered the engram shimmering in her hands.

"I don't know!" she sighed. "It looks like the first branch might decrypt to an ancient datapad of some sort. But the second might turn to…what is that? A toolkit?"

She had no idea how any of that could be deduced from the engram. Master Rahool examined a facet just below Zinnia's left ring finger.

"A toolkit," he said. "Or perhaps a requisition for one. You won't know more until you choose."

"Well, that's an easy choice," Zinnia said. "A datapad is better than some dumb old requisition!" Her fingers skimmed the engram.

"Not so fast!" Master Rahool cut in. Zinnia's hand stilled. "Suppose the requisition is filed on another datapad?"

"It could be," Zinnia said thoughtfully. "But it could also be a crummy piece of paper. Remember when Katilyn's engram turned into a tin can?" The Warlock snickered and looked over at her. "Oh, it was just last week! She was decrypting for Warlock Tomas and I thought he was going to chase her down the halls! He was so mad!" Her green eyes gleamed with wicked glee. "Tomas deserved it though. He's such a stuck-up bore!"

Master Rahool cleared his throat.

"When it comes to the possibility of Golden Age data, nothing is _crummy_.". He frowned with distaste at the word. "Don't be so quick to discount an engram's possibilities because of your own prejudices."

Zinnia's face twisted up in a scowl.

"How can I make a decision, then? There are too many possibilities!"

"You have to take into account the needs of the Guardian presenting the engram to you. Or, in some cases, the needs of the Tower as a whole. It's not unheard of to offer recompense for engrams when you think there might be an item of historical significance contained within."

"This engram came from a stash that Katilyn bought off of a Guardian last week," Zinnia said, sounding impatient. "She said she didn't care what became of it."

"Fine then," Master Rahool said, sitting back in his chair and spreading his hands congenially. "Make your choice."

"Hmph! No stupid papers for me!" Zinnia said. "I'm going to go with the first path. I want to know what this datapad contains!" She began to tap at the engram again.

They watched her work without further comment. Zinnia kept worrying her bottom lip as she worked, but a little grin quirked on her face. She was delighted at the puzzle in front of her. Her tapping grew quicker.

"Just a few more repetitions…" she murmured. "I think I've narrowed the parameters…"

Master Rahool eyed her work sharply. Suddenly his hand shot out to cover hers.

"Ah, ah, ah!" he cried, standing up.

"What?" Zinnia blinked at him. She looked as though she only just remembered either of them were there.

"Slow down, girl!" Master Rahool admonished. "You're working too quickly! See here? If you leave this node unchained much longer the entire engram will collapse. You'll corrupt the data within!"

"I see it!" Zinnia sighed, trying to take his hand away. Master Rahool ignored her, touching the engram at various points, presumably repairing the flaw.

"Don't get sloppy, now. Slow and steady wins the race," he said.

"I think you've only told me that a million times!" Zinnia grumbled.

"Then why don't you remember it?" he challenged.

"Oh, let me do it!" she snapped, snatching the engram away from the Cryptarch. "This is my decryption lesson, remember?"

Master Rahool folded his arms over his chest. A muscle worked in his square jaw. "Go on, then!"

Zinnia hunched over the engram, muttering to herself. Master Rahool's dark eyebrows climbed. He looked like he wanted to intervene once more. Zinnia jealously guarded her work until the engram emitted a soft chime. Its blue light flared and faded like a flashing meteor. Ebla paused from his grooming and chirruped curiously at the spectacle. A little electronic pad, heavy and boxy, lay on the desk where the engram had been a moment before.

"Gotcha!" Zinnia grinned. She snatched up the datapad and began pressing buttons. "Now to see what's on here!" She glanced over at Master Rahool. "Maybe some Golden Age news of the Traveler's arrival…?" The Warlock looked supremely satisfied. The satisfaction didn't last long. She stared at the screen and toggled the buttons. Her smile began to slip.

"It looks like it's just…what is this? Stories? Children's stories?"

Master Rahool's curiosity got the better of him. He crowded next to Zinnia, taking the pad from her hands. His face was a mask of eager concentration while Zinnia watched him, hands on her hips.

"Very interesting," Master Rahool murmured, paging through the data. "I don't believe I have a volume quite like this! Ha! Another one for the Archives!"

Zinnia's mouth twisted as though she weren't sure whether to frown or share in his enthusiasm. There was a definite light of disappointment in her green eyes.

"Isn't there anything else in there?" she asked hopefully. "Tabloids? Diaries? Grocery receipts? Anything?"

"This is quite enough on its own," Master Rahool replied. "Every bit of history we gain is another piece put into the puzzle of our present."

Zinnia looked down at the pad, her expression skeptical at best.

"A child's toy!" she muttered sullenly.

"There doesn't appear to be any data lost from the decryption," the Cryptarch went on. "The quality of the datapad itself is excellent. I'd say all in all it was good practice, though I must insist that you slow down when you work. Don't be in such a rush next time. You'll miss important details. Savor the process of decryption. It's an art!"

"Why, I do believe there was a compliment somewhere in there!" Zinnia sneered.

Master Rahool ignored her sarcasm.

"Take a look, Guardian," he said. He handed the datapad over to her. Zinnia turned her attention to Ebla.

Curious, she scrolled through. It did appear to contain a book of sorts, filled with nursery rhymes, fairy tales, and riddles. She glanced over them, smiling to herself at some of the titles. _The Boy Who Caught the Traveler. Sixteen Rhymes of Matter. The Girl and the Wish Dragon._

"This was likely a present for a young Golden Age child, once," Master Rahool said. "I wonder if any of these rhymes are still being taught?"

"Why was it encrypted?" she asked, giving the pad back to the Cryptarch.

"Plenty of reasons. Encryption back in the Golden Age wasn't necessarily all about keeping things secret. It was also part of a system for convenient data storage and distribution, not to mention surprise gift-giving and novelty display. Chances are this was once on a library shelf for preservation. And now it's made its way to ours!" Master Rahool clearly did not see it as a disappointment like Zinnia did.

"That was amazing," she said. Both Zinnia and Master Rahool looked pleased at that.

"A Cryptarch is always on duty in the Tower, Guardian," Master Rahool said. "As soon as you find an engram of your own, you know where to reach us!"

"Where would I find one?" she asked.

"Just about anywhere!" Zinnia piped up. "I've found a couple while on patrol outside the City. One was hiding in the rusted frame of a Golden Age aircraft. Another was taken from a Dreg that ambushed my Mentor."

Master Rahool nodded.

"New engrams are still being made. The Tower can always utilize the Cryptarchy to safeguard important artifacts through encryption. Outside our Order, however, engram encryption is somewhat of a lost art."

Melodic chimes pealed outside the Archives, filtering into the little room. The Tower bells were marking the hour. Master Rahool frowned.

"Blast it all! Is it really past nine already? I've got to get this report to Ikora finished. _Where_ is Riva's analysis…?"

"I can ask her!" Zinnia offered brightly.

" _You_ can take this datapad to Jorin for cataloging," Master Rahool said. "And while you're at it, you can take these books back to their proper shelves." He gestured at the stack of books they'd left on the chair.

"Can't we do just one more engram?" Zinnia pleaded. "Even a little green one?"

"That's enough for today." Master Rahool ignored her pleas and turned his attention to the cluttered desk. "I don't have time, and neither do you. Those shelves are in dire need of attention!"

"But what about encryption?" Zinnia insisted. "I should really get some more practice in that, shouldn't I? I can start with this datapad!"

"You're stalling, Zinnia."

Zinnia's shoulders slumped in dejection. She stuck her tongue out at the Cryptarch's turned back.

She decided this was her cue to leave as well.

"Come on," she said to the little Warlock. "I'll help you carry these books."

Master Rahool looked up quickly. He seemed to have forgotten about her again.

"Stop by again any time, Guardian. The Cryptarchy is always available."

"Thank you, Cryptarch," she said, gathering up the books. She waited at the door as Zinnia shuffled over to the chair and Master Rahool heaped the remaining books in her arms. The Warlock had a glower for him the entire time. The man didn't seem to notice, or perhaps he was just used to ignoring her vitriol. With a theatrical sigh, Zinnia followed her out of the study.

"Hmph!" Zinnia grumbled when she was safely out of earshot from the Cryptarch. "How can I savor the process of decryption when I barely get a chance to do it? I've done nothing but tend shelves for weeks! He's saving all the good stuff for when I'm out of the Archives. I just know it!"

"The good stuff?"

"Yeah! All the work on the Vex and the Vault of Glass!"

"Um…"

"You don't have a clue what I'm talking about, huh?" Zinnia grinned.

"That seems to be the trend," she sighed.

Zinnia grunted and shifted her grip on her stack of books. Her own arms were feeling a little shaky. The Archive was a large building. She hoped they didn't have too much further to go. Aside from her protesting arms, her stomach was beginning to churn ominously. Breakfast was catching up with her.

"You'll catch up quick," Zinnia assured her. "I remember how it was. Always feeling a step behind, wondering what everyone was talking about. The way everyone pays you special attention and then ignores you when it's time to get down to real business…"

She wasn't so sure Zinnia was just talking about her early days anymore.

"How long have you been a Guardian?" she asked, as though the little Warlock had just up and decided one day that she would rise from the dead.

"Almost two years," Zinnia replied. "My Rebirthday is coming up soon!"

"Let me guess. The anniversary of your Rebirth?"

"That's right!" Zinnia nodded happily. "We celebrate just like civilians celebrate their birthdays. I haven't decided what kind of party I'm going to throw, but I know I want some karaoke! Youhave to come! Wait until Cayde gets into the synesthete and starts singing! You'll just die!"

Apparently the Tower had a thing for karaoke.

"Is that an invitation?" she asked.

"Of course it is!" Zinnia cried. "You're my friend, aren't you?" She shook her curly head as though that declaration were obvious.

She smiled, surprised by the Warlock deciding to take her under wing so soon.

"I can't believe it's almost been two whole years!" Zinnia said. "Even though sometimes it seems like an Age has passed since Perdita found me. I guess I'm not so young anymore."

She was going to laugh and ask why two years would be considered old. Memories of her Rebirth, of the Fallen lashing out in waves as she fled through dark passages, made her pause. Just how long did Guardians last, anyways? She had the uncomfortable feeling that it wasn't very long. Not if two years marked old age.

The corridor they walked let into another high chamber. Shelf after shelf filled the open space, with little tables and carrels nestled between them. Now she saw other people walking about, in long robes marked with the same symbol on Master Rahool's, simple arrows and curving lines. Zinnia bustled down the long open path that marked the room's main artery for travel, then turned down a narrow aisle between two shelves, headed toward the chamber's far wall. She approached a wooden desk positioned under one of the narrow stained glass windows. This desk was also cluttered, even worse than Master Rahool's was, and in quite a different way. Among datapads and books and rolls of papers were scattered a strange assortment of objects. Curious shaped rocks were strewn everywhere, along with old buttons, pictures torn from magazines, even what looked like the bones of small animals. Dried flower petals peeked from the pages of a heavy book. A couple pairs of armored gauntlets rested by a crumb-filled plate. Candy bar wrappers lay scattered over a map of Venus. A little glass bowl held marbles and nail polish. Photographs in whimsical frames sat on one corner of the desk, surrounded by heaps of colorful bead strands.

Zinnia gestured to her to set the books down on the desk, unconcerned about the objects beneath.

"Phew! I thought we'd never make it!" she sighed. She reached up to the window's shallow ledge and touched the leaves of a potted flower perched there. Its petals were bright orange, exploding outward in a puff of color, much like Zinnia's hair was trying to do.

"Thanks for the help!" the Warlock said, sticking a finger into the potting soil and rubbing the dirt between her fingers. "I don't think I'd like to make two trips to Master Rahool's study. He can be a handful sometimes!" She looked much the same way as the Cryptarch had when speaking about her.

"This is your desk?" she asked.

"Yep!" Zinnia grinned proudly. "Pretty official, huh? I wish I had my own room like Master Rahool, but at least here I get a window. I can't believe he can shut himself up in that cave all day! He actually likes it that way!" Her expression was scandalized.

Zinnia didn't seem to mind her curiosity as she glanced through the things on the desk. One of the photographs showed a man's head and shoulders clad in thick armor, his helm sporting a single sharp horn. The frame was shaped like a heart, covered in red spangles.

"What's that all about?" she grinned, pointing at the photograph.

Zinnia's eyes widened. She snatched the frame off the desk.

"Oh! That's just…um…it's nothing!"

"Who is that?"

Zinnia's cheeks were bright red. She looked down at the picture with longing.

"That's Lord Shaxx."

"Are you two together?" she ventured.

Zinnia's look was desperate.

"Oh, I wish!" She clutched the picture to her heart with a heavy sigh. "The man is a work of art! But he hardly acknowledges that I even exist!"

"Maybe you're better off that way," she said. "He looks kind of scary."

"Light, he is! But inside, I bet he's just a big softy," Zinnia smiled fondly at the picture.

Her stomach gurgled. Zinnia was too engrossed in the picture to notice.

"I better get going," she said. Now was the time to escape before she got dragged off to who knew where else. Ghost wouldn't like it, but she thought she might need to remain in her rooms again. Her first meal was not going to be forgiven by her out-of-practice innards.

 **Why don't we go to the armory?** Ghost suggested. He had been silent up to now, watching her interact with the others. Of course he hadn't forgotten his mission to acquaint her with everything all at once!

"You have a weapon already?" Zinnia asked.

"It's a long story," she said.

"You should tell me all about it — hey! Why don't you come over tonight? We're going to watch _Guardians_!" She fairly bounced on her toes while waiting for an answer.

"Oh. Uh…"

"Yeah! It will be fun! We have a little party every Tuesday! You'll meet Marina, and Boone if he's back from patrol. Katilyn and Riva should be coming too. Also Tory, but maybe you're better off prolonging that meeting." She rolled her eyes. "I'll come get you around seventeen hundred!"

She could only smile. What else was she going to do?

"Sure. Sounds fun."

Zinnia clapped her hands. It seemed nothing, not Master Rahool's implacability nor Lord Shaxx's indifference, could wipe away her cheer completely. She began to pick through the books on her desk, determined to prolong the actual shelving as long as possible.

"Do you know how to get to the armory?" Zinnia asked.

"Ghost can guide me." Whether I want him to or not! she thought.

"Input 709 into the elevator and it will take you right to the proper floor. No looking at maps needed!"

 **I wasn't aware there was an express code** , Ghost clicked.

"Not everyone knows about it," Zinnia explained, still sifting through books. "Banshee told it to me. Actually, it's going to take you to the atrium right above the armory. It's the back way, and a lot quicker because you don't have to go through the service hallway where all the deliveries come in. You just exit the elevator and take a right. There's a stairway practically right there that will take you to the workshop."

 **That's convenient** , Ghost chirped. **Thanks!**

Zinnia's eyes twinkled.

"Say hello to Banshee for me! And don't worry about him. He looks scary, but _he_ really is a big sweetheart!"

She waved a quick goodbye to the Warlock, covering another stomach rumble.

Back outside the Archives, Ghost spoke up.

 **I don't recall an atrium above the armory.**

"Could it be new?" she asked.

 **I wouldn't think so. Tower architecture rarely changes so drastically. There's not a lot of space left. Well, I suppose we could take a look. It has been a while since I explored the Tower. I wonder why my internal maps didn't automatically update when I joined the Ghost uplink?**

She craned her neck to peer into a columned chamber on the North walkway. The Traveler was visible through the long pillars, framed perfectly through giant bronze rings suspended in mid-air. Curiosity made her want to stop and linger. Her stomach reminded her to keep moving.

"Maybe we should wait to visit the armory," she said.

 **Why?** Ghost clicked. **Banshee won't mind. I've already told him to expect us.**

Of course he had. She opened her mouth to say that she wasn't feeling well and stopped. If Ghost was this clingy now, what would he do when she admitted she wasn't feeling well? She imagined him hustling her back to Jana, the endless fussing that would ensue.

"Oh. I guess that's fine," she lied. They would just have to make this visit quick.

Inside the elevator, she input 709 into the panel. They had the car all to themselves. She settled against the railing.

"What's this _Guardians_ thing Zinnia was talking about?" she asked, trying to take her mind off her queasiness.

 **I haven't the faintest. Some kind of City vidscreen program, I suppose. Huh! I remember when there was only the radio to keep people company!** Ghost chirped and buzzed thoughtfully. **You know, Ghosts used to help disseminate news a long time ago. Those who didn't have Guardians carried messages all across the continent. We're faster and more secure than a runner. I volunteered a few times myself! The City has changed so much…**

She glanced at the floor counter. To her surprise, they were already halfway down the Tower.

"The armory sure is a long way down," she remarked.

Ghost's fins drew down in concern.

 **The armory is supposed to be in the middle of the Tower. We've already passed it!**

They both looked to the input panel. The numerals 709 were clearly displayed on the screen.

"So where are we going?"

A few moments later, the car slowed and settled. She and Ghost exchanged another look. The doors slid open.

A raucous scene greeted them. Long and low, the concrete bay the elevator opened onto was filled with rumbling vehicles. Beeps and horns and hissing brakes echoed off the walls, along with the shouts of workers. A long, broad road swept through the bay toward the City. This was definitely not an armory.

Ghost clicked and whirred beside her.

"What?" she called over the noise.

 **I said we're in the wrong place!**

"I'll say! Where are we?"

She stepped aside as a short man bustled along the walkway before the elevator, bundled up in winter wear. Heavy earmuffs sat over his knit hat. His face was half covered by a worn scarf. The air was still cold even late in the morning. She was glad for Ghost's scarf.

The man did a double take and turned to her. He pulled down his scarf, revealing a weathered face with lively brown eyes.

"Guardian!" he shouted over the noise. "Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for the armory!" she said. The man removed the earmuffs and cupped a hand around his ear.

"I'm looking for the armory!" she repeated, feeling like she was screaming.

The man's eyes widened.

"The armory? Why, that's up the Tower! This here's the docks!"

"Sorry!" she said. "I guess I got the input wrong!"

"Are you new to the Tower?" he shouted back. She nodded. A giant truck rattled by, making the ground shake. Did this man work here all day long? How could he even hear himself think?

"Bless my soul!" he cried. "A new Guardian come home! Well, I don't know how you got down here, but — wait a minute. Did you put in 709?" He gestured to the elevator.

"Yes!"

The man shook his head and chuckled. She could tell more by the shaking in his wrinkled face than from hearing anything.

"Oh, dear. Did you get that code from Zinnia? Little Warlock, red hair?"

"Yes!"

The man laughed again.

"That explains it! I'm afraid you've been had, Guardian. Don't worry, she does this to everyone! It's all in good fun. Here, I'll set you up." He guided her back to the elevator. She and Ghost stepped inside. The car muffled some of the terrible noise in the bay. The man poked his head inside the car and input another command.

"There. That will take you to the proper floor. See, I complained once to Guardian Zinnia that we hardly see but the same old faces down here day in and out. I guess she took it upon herself to send me visitors. I get poor lost souls down here at least once a month. The Light keep her." He shook his head again. "I'm Alfonso, Tower Dockmaster. The Light bless you, Guardian!" He withdrew from the car and let the doors close.

"Thank you —!" The doors shut completely, and the car began to rise.

 **Well, that was embarrassing** , Ghost clicked. **I should have recognized that was an express command to the bottom levels.**

"Don't blame yourself," she said. She leaned back against the railing again, trying to mask her growing discomfort. "Do you think she really wants us to come over tonight, or is that another trick?"

 **I guess we'll find out.**

Zinnia's kindness had seemed sincere enough. Suddenly, the guarded looks from the Warlocks they had passed and Master Rahool's inquiry into "misfortunes" made more sense.

Alfonso had not tricked them. The elevator stopped twice on its way up to let on other passengers. On the lower levels, the passengers were all Tower workers, not Guardians. They seemed as surprised to see her as Alfonso had been. All were respectful and murmured _hello_ and _the Light keep you_ without fail. The attention was a little embarrassing, particularly in her pained state. She wondered if they would stop being so effusive if they knew she was brand new. But then again, Alfonso had not changed his attitude when he had found out. On top of their politeness, they seemed nervous. They gave her more space than necessary in the car and were careful not to bump into her or Ghost. These people weren't afraid of her, were they? Maybe she was just starting to look sick.

The car chime sounded. The doors slid open to her stop. Alone again, she and Ghost exited. To her relief, a sign on the corridor wall prominently stated Armory with an arrow to point the way.

 **That's more like it** , Ghost clicked. **Come on, let's see what Banshee's done for your rifle. He's really top notch. You won't even recognize it!**


	7. Where Are the Guardians?

Chelise put down her datapad stylus and took another sip of tea.

"Have you ever been through anything like the mine attack, Mr. Dyachenko?" she asked.

She sat in a cramped sitting room on the third floor of one of the oldest apartment buildings she had ever seen, right in the heart of the Foundry district. Across from her, in a threadbare reclining chair, Yuriy Dyachenko gathered his thoughts. He was a middle-aged man with kind, bright eyes and a ready laugh, though right now the subject was serious and his laugh had faded. He ran his good hand through his dark, receding hair and rubbed his tired round face. His left arm was caught in a sling. Yuriy had been very kind to agree to an interview with her. He had joked that he didn't have anything better to do, now that Hakke's unfortunate mine had temporarily halted operations for clean up from the Fallen. Chelise knew he could be resting without having to recount his harrowing experience.

She was glad that Yuriy was open to talking about the disaster. She needed first-hand accounts of what had happened that day. The more that people could hear straight from the victims themselves, the less they could brush off those stories as wild exaggerations — like spokespeople from Omolon and Suros were claiming about survivor's accounts on the news. Many of Hakke's rival foundries were very anxious about the security of their holdings outside the Walls.

Four days after the slaughter, the Tower was the only one yet to comment. Was the Vanguard's silence a refusal to admit the severity of the situation? Maybe it was a noncommittal stance: _What more can we do? This is just the way of the world._

The sofa she sat on had seen better days, probably long before she had even been born. The carpet was worn in a track to the apartment door. The tiny vidscreen in the corner of the room looked to be even older than the sofa. Her heart squeezed. Yuriy had so little to call his own to begin with. Now that he was out of work, what would he do to get by? She felt bad just for taking his offered tea. It was a fine blend, something to be brought out for honored guests.

Twenty minutes ago, when she had started this interview, she hadn't expected to gain much information from a stranger. As far as Yuriy knew, she was conducting a student project for one of her classes. That wasn't technically a lie — she was starting to consider publishing her interview results in an academic paper — but she hadn't really thought he would be so amenable to a nosy student, let alone a nosy individual with a personal mission outside the College, so she had come up with the cover story. To her delight, he had been incredibly accommodating so far, bemused and maybe even gratified by her interest. Not bad for a cold contact. Two days ago she had posted fliers on utility poles and building corners throughout the Foundry district looking for interview subjects. Yuriy so far was the only one to call.

"No," Yuriy answered her question. "I have gone this long in life without ever encountering the Fallen, thank the Light." He touched the Truth pearl around his neck. "Some of these guys at the mine, this is their second or third time, though never before at Hakke. They used to work caravans or were refugees outside the Walls. Marija, this is the fifth time she's been through something like this. That woman is probably thinking she's the unluckiest person on this planet. I'd say she's the luckiest. Surviving five ambushes? I don't know how I made it out of just this one. Not everyone did."

Chelise nodded, chilled by imaginings of Fallen at her back. She had never seen one outside of pictures.

"Was anyone expecting something like this to happen?"

Yuriy shook his head sadly. "Yes and no. We always expect an attack. It's part of our training, you see. We're taught to look for ships on the horizon and to notice Dreg scouts. I don't know that it does any good. Those Fallen are sneaky bastards — er, pardon my language!"

Chelise grinned. It was all right with her if he called those monsters what they were.

"We're always on the lookout," Yuriy continued. "In the back of our minds, we know that there is always the possibility. But this mine…well, Hakke had a good record. I guess maybe we all got a little complacent thinking that the Fallen weren't interested."

"I've heard that there were several reports of Fallen in the area in the weeks leading up to the attack," Chelise said. "Is that true?"

Yuriy nodded. "Yes. I know one of the workers who made a report. She's a site overseer, one of the best. She told me about it after she made a statement to her supervisors. Said she couldn't be sure that she had seen a pike in the distance. Said that it was probably just her being paranoid. But she reported it anyways."

"Did her supervisors take the report seriously?"

"I suppose so," Yuriy sighed. "We're all a bit tired of paperwork and having to drop everything to take a good look around whenever there's a scare. I do remember our security team surveying the boundaries. If they did anything else, I don't know about it."

"Is it true the Vanguard dispatched a team of Guardians to the mine just days before the attack?"

Yuriy scratched his stubbly beard, frowning.

"There were representatives from the Tower on site, but they were not Guardians," he said.

Chelise took note on her datapad. The news had already said as much, though there had been a few confused reports of Guardian intervention. Probably from those mistaking cleanup efforts by Lord Shaxx's Redjacks for an inspection party, twisted through the rumor mill. Still worth looking into, in her opinion.

"As I recall, they were civilians," Yuriy said. "Maybe from one of the Factions? I did not see them personally. They were there for a routine tour of the facility."

"Do you think they were touring as a result of the increased Fallen sightings?" Chelise asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you know if mine operations were able to corroborate Fallen sightings with the Tower that could have pointed to a possible attack ?"

"I couldn't say." Yuriy shrugged awkwardly with his unbound shoulder. "Our head of operations does have some contacts at the Tower. Now, whether those contacts include Commander Zavala himself is anybody's guess. They wouldn't tell someone like me." He grinned ruefully. "I just go into the tunnels and make sure the rock is blasted away."

"So you don't know if the Tower was notified of the overseer's reports?" she pressed.

"I don't." He smiled apologetically.

"I see." Chelise frowned and absently chewed a strand of hair, looking through her notes on her datapad. The little clock in the upper corner let her know that she had maybe fifteen minutes before she needed to get going back to the College. She had hoped to be able to get a definitive answer about any Tower involvement — or lack thereof — through her interview. So far, she had been unsuccessful. Yuriy was a longtime employee, but mid level in the company's organization, not privy to much information except through wide networks of hearsay. That hearsay could be interesting, but she needed the truth. However unpleasant it might turn out to be. Perhaps the letter she'd sent to the Hakke corporate offices would be answered. She wasn't going to pin too many hopes on that, though. It was delicate work trying to extract answers from the foundry about the Tower when they were tied so closely together. Surely nobody wanted to be the one to say something that could get Hakke out of the Tower's good graces. The loss of contract would be devastating.

Chelise considered her next question for a moment. Yuriy had been very forthcoming and pleasant through the entire interview, even sheepish when he sensed he couldn't answer something to her liking. He was already upset by his experience. Too many tough questions were not going to make him feel better.

"Mr. Dyachenko, do you think Guardians should have been posted to the mines once these reports started happening?"

Yuriy thought for a moment, glancing out the tiny kitchen window to his right. The glass was old and rippled, settling in its pane. Pale, lace curtains caused the afternoon light to glow thick gold through the yellowed fabric, lending a tiny bit of cheer to the dingy apartment. The view out the window was of the old brick wall of the building just next door. The apartment complexes sat so close together she could have touched the outside wall if she leaned over the windowsill.

"It would have been nice," Yuriy said finally. "I could never complain about a Guardian watching over us."

"Why do you think none were sent to watch?" she asked.

"I suppose either because the threat wasn't deemed credible or no report reached the Vanguard," Yuriy answered. He scratched his beard and shrugged again.

"Do you think Guardians should be posted at the mines from now on?"

"If such a thing is possible, that would be wonderful." Yuriy seemed amused by this line of questioning. She knew it sounded like wishful thinking.

"Do you believe it is possible?"

Yuriy hesitated.

"Well…I don't know. I have always heard that there are so few Guardians and so many places they need to be. Maybe they can't be spared to watch mines."

"Why is it that people of the City seem to know so little about the Tower's operations?" Chelise asked.

"It has always been a place apart." Yuriy's demeanor remained open and pleasant, but his eyes looked troubled now as he struggled to find the words to explain. He glanced at the Truth pearl around her neck. He had to be wondering why a fellow of the Light's Truth would be asking such questions.

"The Guardians have long looked to matters that people of the City would not necessarily understand," Yuriy said. "They travel the planets of the Inner System as easily as if it were still the Golden Age. I hear they encounter things out there that can't be believed. I don't know how many of those things are bedtime stories our parents told us to frighten us into obedience. But I do know that the crack on Luna's face is real. I saw it myself a long time ago. I looked at it through the telescope in the College observatory. Whether the Darkness is hiding there like the Vanguard says, well, I can't verify that with my own eyes. But I have no reason not to believe it."

"Why is that?" she asked quietly.

Yuriy was truly taken aback for the first time.

"Why would the Tower post edicts banning travel to the moon? It was only Guardians going there in the first place. Civilians had no interest. There must be something dangerous there that they want to protect us from."

"What about the dangers at home?" she asked. "There is a ban from things unknown on Luna, yet we know for a fact there are Fallen here on Earth. Do you think that the Fallen are less of a priority for the Tower than whatever is supposedly hiding on Luna?"

"I am the wrong person to ask," Yuriy chuckled. "I am a miner, not a Guardian. Of course I think the Fallen are a threat. Still, we have dealt with them for hundreds of years. Perhaps the Tower feels we are capable of handling them on our own."

"Are we capable?"

"We could be," Yuriy sighed. "With the right preparation. There have been successful defenses from bands of civilians in the past. This time, we were caught unaware." His eyes were sad again.

"Are the Guardians capable of protecting us? Or do you think we need to stop relying so heavily on the Tower?"

"Of course they are capable!" Yuriy laughed in astonishment. He probably thought she was an absolute idiot at this point. A small price to pay for answers. "I set eyes on a Titan a couple of weeks ago at the North Gate. One look at her and I knew why they are called the Living Wall! The Fallen must be mad to take them on! I would not dare to even ask her for directions!" He chuckled again and saw that Chelise was still waiting. "As for relying on the Tower, I can't imagine the City without it. The Tower isn't just the home of the Guardians. It's a symbol."

"A symbol of what?"

"Of hope," Yuriy answered. His dark eyes filled with quiet pride. "Hope that we can stay alive. Hope that we can work together instead of dying off lonely and afraid, scattered across the globe. Hope that young people like you will bring back the Golden Age."

For a moment, Chelise thought about ending the interview right then and there. This man was not a Tower zealot, but he obviously didn't see anything wrong with their activities. If she kept up this line of questioning, would she be telling the man how to feel? Would he start to suspect her motives? The news had picked up the reports of a Trinary cultist on campus. What if Yuriy thought she was a sympathizer?

She smiled to hide her frustration. Was she really the only one who took issue with the Tower's cold-shoulder treatment of the City? Were her friends right to say that she was just looking for trouble?

"We're almost finished, Mr. Dyachenko," she said. "You've been very helpful. I just have a few more questions, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead." Yuriy shifted in his chair, resting his mug of tea on his knee.

"Because of the attack on the mine and the subsequent cleanup operation, it's expected that resources will have to be pulled from other areas in order to keep the Tower supplied. Possibly this will mean layoffs for Hakke employees, as well as inconveniences and delays for those leaving from the Gates. Do you think that is fair?"

"It will have to be done, whether I think it is fair or not," Yuriy replied. He sounded resigned and calm.

"Suppose more attacks happen, and this time it is the farms that are targeted. What should civilians be expected to do? Should we go so far as to ration our food in order to feed the Tower?" The news had been going berserk over the possibility of more attacks. Pundits gleefully spun out worse-case scenarios with a feverish gleam in their eyes.

"That was the case for Twilight Gap," Yuriy grunted, his eyes distant with memory. He chewed on a thumbnail and glanced out the window again. "I was only a small boy at the time, but I remember the lines for food. I would hope it would not come to that again."

"But if it should, is that fair?"

He sighed heavily. The energy seemed to drain out of him.

"No, it's not fair for the hungry. There were a lot of children during the Gap who did not understand and cried bitterly at night from empty bellies. I remember people who collapsed with exhaustion trying to afford what little rations they could find. I remember great piles of donations for the Tower, everything from food to weapons. Times were very, very hard." He was silent a moment, lost in thought. "And yet, what does all that matter if the Guardians fail and the Fallen breach the Walls? Those same hungry people will die for certain. The Fallen will murder them without a thought. They'll take their bodies for experiments or put them on display on their skiffs. I think it is better we keep the Tower whole and strong however we can, despite hardship. They are our only true defense."

"But you said earlier that with preparation we might resist the Fallen ourselves." Chelise said.

Yuriy frowned. "To a point. Small pockets of them, perhaps. A full-scale assault like Twilight Gap? No, no. We would be finished without the Guardians."

"And there's nothing we can do to change that?" she asked. The question just popped out of her mouth. Was she crazy? He was going to think she was Trinary for sure!

Yuriy's eyes twinkled, appraising her question. He didn't look upset. Yet.

"Perhaps the Ghosts could turn our City security into Guardians?" Yuriy mused. It was a thin joke. They both knew the living had no such luck. "Realistically, what can be done?" he sighed. "I suppose we could mass in numbers and train ourselves to fight like the armies of the Golden Age. We could all go to war with the Guardians. Maybe that would help a little. But the thought of leaving our City and its proud culture to become a whole people that only know fighting…well, that makes me sad."

"It's better to let the Guardians do the fighting? So that we might be free to live our lives?"

"That does sound selfish, doesn't it?" Yuriy looked a little embarrassed. "However, that is what the Guardians are for, isn't that so? The Ghosts find those who have already died, so they can fight without fear. Free from their old lives, they have no ties to the present except the safety of the City."

Chelise had often considered that herself. Nobody had ever claimed a direct, close relative as a Guardian. The Light Blessed were freed from the troubles of providing for families or taking up the mantles of their previous jobs or responsibilities. They were even exempt from the threat of disease or hunger. There wasn't much to fear when a Ghost could bring you back. The Light had remade them to be unshakable protectors. In turn, they could give their all to that protection without being afraid of leaving any loved ones behind again.

"If the Guardians asked it of you, would you fight?" The question wasn't really relevant to her concerns, but Chelise suddenly needed to know.

"Yes." Yuriy nodded emphatically. His voice was hard and quiet. "Yes, I would."

"Even with your ties?"

"Even with my ties. The Guardians represent the Light. The Light is always worth fighting for." His expression was so solemn that she nodded. Faced with such conviction, she would be coldhearted indeed not to agree — not to mention she would solidify herself as some kind of heretic! She exited her note program and flipped the datapad cover closed.

"Thank you, Mr. Dyachenko. That's everything I needed."

Yuriy's smile returned, as warm as ever.

"You are most welcome. I am glad to help a student of the College. Besides, it's good to have some company during the day. Poor Ruslan is working extra shifts now that I am holding down this chair." He gestured sadly at his bound-up arm. "I thought the silence and free time would be refreshing, but it's just boring!"

"Ruslan?" she asked.

"Ah. Ruslan is my son." He gave her a pocket-sized frame off of his chairside table. "He works in the western provinces, at the Harkness farm. He was supposed to take a short leave before the attack happened. Once he learned I was injured and that mine operations were suspended, he said he would keep on and take his vacation later. I think he's worried I won't be able to get by. He worries too much."

Chelise smiled, remembering her own concern. The young man grinning in the photograph looked to be about her age. He had Yuriy's eyes and his dark wavy hair, with a longer, narrower face.

"The Light send you a quick recovery nonethless," she said, handing the picture back to Yuriy. She stood and gathered up her bag and coat. Yuriy went ahead of her to the door to see her out. It was hardly necessary. It practically opened onto their laps.

"Thank you again," she said, stepping out into the musty hallway. Any lights the corridor once had seemed to have burnt out long ago. "Would it be all right to contact you if I have more questions?" She wasn't sure how he could help her from here on out, but it was worth keeping this connection open.

"Of course!"

"Here's my interlink address, in case there's anything you'd like to ask," she said, scribbling her information on a scrap of paper against the wall. Yuriy took it, amused again.

"It was a curious interview. I haven't had to think so hard in quite a while! You said you are doing a research project for the College?"

Chelise shouldered her bag. "Yes. I am examining the Tower's history from the viewpoints of the City," she lied.

"That is very interesting. Is this for a particular class?"

"Sort of. It's an independent study project." At least that was the truth.

"Ah. You have far more drive than I did when I was a student!" Yuriy chuckled. "Well, I wish you luck!"

"Thank you, Mr. Dyachenko."

They said their goodbyes and he shut the door. Chelise played with the chain to her necklace, turning the pearl over in her fingers as she descended the hall stairs. She was used to visiting poorer sectors of the district on account of being friends with Kemal, but even Kemal's house had been a little nicer than this. It wasn't fair that someone like Yuriy did such important work for the Tower and couldn't afford a better place to live. And now he couldn't work at all. She felt a twinge of regret. She hadn't even asked him how he planned to move forward. He hoped he didn't think her insensitive. Blessed Light, she hoped he didn't think her completely crazy! Some of the things she had said…she was lucky he hadn't thrown her out! Lei-5 would certainly not approve of her questions. Neither would Kemal.

Kemal…she hadn't spoken to him since leaving The Acorn a night ago. She knew she had upset him. Blair and Inacio and Tamara had been listening to her concerns about the mine attack all week, but poor Kemal had been really caught off guard. But even before he went to the Tower he would have shied away from these concerns, only answering her questions with the catechisms. Now that he worked there, he seemed to find reinforcement of their long-held beliefs.

And why not? Did she really suspect wrongdoing? Complacency? This was the Tower, for the love of the Light! The monument to the Light Blessed, the children of the Traveler! Who was she to question what they did and how they did it?

No matter how many times she told herself these things, her doubts would not go away. All she had to do was remember the bloodied faces, the haunted eyes of the people filing into the East Gate while she had stood there, shocked and helpless in the midst of a crowd of curious shoppers at the bazaar. She had only been at the Gate to look at the market's offerings, bored and restless from a long semester and the first sunny day in a stretch of gloomy skies. She hadn't expected to see anything like that, with the ambulances wailing up the road and the news crews pouncing on the frightened workers for details. She hadn't expected to be so shaken up. _Where are the Guardians?_ someone had asked. That innocent question had rolled through her mind ever since.

 _Where are the Guardians?_

The asker had only meant to speak to fears of a follow-up attack. They couldn't know they had sparked a hint of anger in her heart. They couldn't know that the question had made her start to tremble in a sudden despairing panic, a helpless claustrophobia. Was the City so very vulnerable? Would they always be waiting for the Light Blessed to come and save them?

Wasn't it already too late to be saved if they were cowering behind these Walls?

The Tower had stood for centuries now. The City still waited at its feet for guidance, for it to tell them that everything was going to all right. As a girl, she had always felt safe at night, thinking about the Tower and imagining the Guardians within. Now it felt so very far away, cold and remote. She had realized on that day at the Gate that no such proclamation of safety had ever issued from it.

Trust in the Light, the catechisms reminded them all.

The dead mine workers had trusted the Light. And The Tower, the Light's Trust, was silent. What did it mean, if the Guardians could offer no rationale nor comfort for their misery? Was there none to give?

Her gloomy thoughts chased her into the street. She took deep breaths of the cold air, warming herself in the weak sun peeking between low clouds. Yuriy's apartment had not been well heated. She looked around at the solid, plain buildings around her, at the distant span of the Wall on the horizon, trying to quiet her fears with the familiar and mundane. After a while she began her long commute back to the College. First she would need to catch the bus back to the train station. If she dawdled too long and missed the connection, she would have a long wait in the cold.

Yuriy had been so patient and helpful, but it wasn't enough. She knew that there was only one person who could give her the inside information she needed about the Tower. Maybe Kemal could forgive her for that night at the bar. Maybe he would be willing to talk if she just explained how she felt.

No, she couldn't do that. He would only try to cheer her up and insist she go speak to the Flame. Her eyes were open now. She would not apologize, cringing behind the excuse of shaken faith — which was surely what Kemal thought was going on. She did not need to have a reason to ask perfectly reasonable questions, even if they were about the Light Blessed. If she spoke to Kemal, she would just have to be careful how she framed her questions. If she could keep things light and friendly, then maybe he wouldn't get so defensive.

At the bus shelter, she wrote out a message to Kemal on her datapad. An invitation to catch up again, just like they used to meet over coffee after weekly service at the College Flame. Likely, Kemal's busy schedule meant that they could not speak in person any time soon, but she would take a vidchat over nothing. Hopefully, Kemal would agree.


	8. Tuesday Night

Her doorbell rang. She looked up from the rifle.

 **That must be Zinnia** , Ghost clicked from Rest. For the past hour it had been just her and her thoughts as she practiced bringing the unloaded rifle to her shoulder like Banshee had shown her. Plates on the counter and a patched crack in the wall acted as her targets while she worked on quick aim. The rifle was feeling more and more comfortable in her grip. After Banshee's tutorials, she wondered how she had ever managed to hit anything on her way out of the Cosmodrome. The old Exo had expressed the same thought. She found the practice strangely calming, helping to take her mind off of her uneasy guts. Ghost had finally known something was up when she had started sweating and went to lie down on the bed for a while. If this really was Zinnia at the door, she half expected Ghost to forbid her from leaving — no matter that she was starting to feel a little better.

She set the rifle carefully in its new case. That had been a kind gift from the gunsmith, along with accoutrement to clean the weapon after its next use. For now, Banshee had serviced the rifle from barrel to butt and it gleamed like one of the brand new creations on the armory walls. Even the cracked lens was replaced. This was a free service to a new Guardian, she'd been told. Any other work would be paid.

She snapped the case shut and hurried to the door.

"Oh, good! You're here! Are you ready to go?" Zinnia's enthusiasm burst into the calm evening like a whirlwind. The little Warlock beamed up at her, holding a colorfully packaged box of cookies.

"I don't have anything to bring," she admitted.

"Don't worry about it!" Zinnia said. "Just bring yourself! The only reason I have these cookies is because Jorin had a free day last week. I got him to bring them back from the City. You have to try them. You're going to love them!" Zinnia peeked around her shoulder into the room beyond. "Hey, wow! You have a great view!"

She stood back, waving Zinnia by. The Warlock darted into the apartment, making straight for the sitting room window. She pressed her face so close to the glass it fogged with her breath.

"My windows all face the mountains and Twilight Gap," Zinnia said. "It would be really pretty, except one of the Tower buttresses blocks half the view." She regarded the City below with interest, then turned to examine the room. "It's so empty!" she clucked. "We've got to get you some decorations."

She shrugged. "I guess. It's not like I've spent a lot of time in here so far." She avoided looking at Ghost. Zinnia didn't need to know how much she'd actually been holed up here.

"A week of patrols will make even these little rooms feel bigger than the Archives," Zinnia said. "You'll never be so glad for a door you can close to get some privacy!"

She could definitely understand that right now, though it was difficult to imagine Zinnia ever wanting to be alone.

"Okay, let's go!" Zinnia cried. "We're meeting at Marina's place, as usual. I can't wait for you to meet everybody!" She zipped past her and out the front door. Ghost went to Rest, and she closed the door behind her, wondering if she had the energy for meeting anyone else. Probably not, if they were going to be as enthusiastic as Zinnia was.

Marina's apartments were twelve floors above her own. The halls there were airy and bright, with long windows running down the outside corridors that afforded spectacular views. Like many other parts of the Tower, there were signs of wear and tear, of long occupation and use. The carpets were faded where countless feet had tread, the tapestries dusty and muted from sunlight and age. Zinnia strode confidently down the quiet halls with her cookies in hand. They stopped at a doorway near the corner. Zinnia pressed a button on the keypad. A few moments later, the door clicked and slid open.

The room they stepped into was absolutely awash with color and light. She squinted in the brilliant glow of the low evening sun shining through an enormous window covering half the sitting room wall. The apartment walls were painted in golds and oranges that soaked up the sunlight and made its glow even richer. Paintings hung everywhere. Some were huge landscapes and Cityscapes, others small, abstract splotches and streaks of paint. Two long sofas in the sitting room were oriented toward a large vidscreen mounted on the wall. Cupboards and side tables held neatly arranged books and lovingly displayed curios, most of which were carvings of people and animals in marble or wood. It was an inviting place, and she could see why Zinnia thought her rooms were so drab in comparison.

An Exo appeared from the small side hall. Her bare metal feet, delicately and intricately shaped, sank into the rich white carpet. Her elegant clothing was loose silk, as bright and colorful as the room. Flowing red trousers and a matching long tunic settled over her slender frame, leaving her arms bare to reflect the sun. A pale blue Mark hung from her waist, a swan in white thread spreading its wings across the fabric. The Exo took her visitors in with glowing white eyes set in almond-shaped sockets above high cheekplates, in a carved oval face that shone brilliant silver like the rest of her. Her bare head was studded with tiny silver nodes. The only mar to her beauty was a large swatch of deep red, like a blot of old paint, slashed across her left eye. The blotch was faded and scuffed. Perhaps she had tried to erase it once.

"Marina, I brought a friend!" Zinnia announced. "This is the new Guardian everyone's been talking about! I told her it would be okay if she joined us," she said hopefully.

"Of course it is," Marina said. Her voice was as harmonious as the rest of her. "You are welcome here, Guardian. I hope this one hasn't been giving you any trouble." It was hard for her to read Exo emotions, but Marina's voice and demeanor gave her little doubt: there was a smile in that last comment directed at Zinnia.

Zinnia's face screwed up into an indignant frown. Marina placed delicate hands on the Warlock's face.

"Oh, darling, you haven't been sleeping well again, have you?" she asked, looking into Zinnia's eyes. "You've got that look about you."

Zinnia shrugged off her concern. "I just got back from patrol early yesterday morning," she said by way of explanation. "Patrol with Shenu." She scrunched up her face again. Marina's laugh was soft and indulgent. She smoothed Zinnia's unruly curls, shaking her head.

"You got back yesterday and went straight to the Archives," Marina sighed, "where you no doubt burned the midnight oil. I bet you haven't even unpacked or done your laundry."

"I'll get around to it, mother!" Zinnia rolled her eyes. "I've got plenty to wear. Besides, what do the Fallen care if my clothes stink? I bet they even like it. They're always smelling things."

Marina shook her head again, with an exasperated sigh for the little Warlock. She gathered up one of Zinnia's vestment sleeves and immediately saw the ink stains on the cuff.

"I'm sure the Cryptarchs care. Are you ever going to roll your sleeves up when you write?"

Zinnia snatched the cuff away and presented the box of cookies.

"Here, I brought these. We should get a tray!" Her glare was very pointed. Clearly, she'd had enough of Marina's cosseting. The lights that made up the Exo's eyes were surprisingly expressive, and the look they were giving Zinnia at the moment was definitely one of bemused resignation.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Marina said. "I have all sorts of refreshments available. I'm sure Zinnia has told you that our Tuesday nights are quite an affair."

Marina took the package of cookies from Zinnia as she spoke and made her way to the small kitchen nook. It was strange to think of an Exo's quarters having a kitchen . Hadn't Cayde implied they didn't eat? Even stranger was that Marina's appeared to be fully stocked with all kinds of utensils and spices and cooking implements. Zinnia bounced into the kitchen behind Marina. The Warlock opened the large refrigerator and began to rummage around inside.

She perched on the edge of the sofa. It was hard to relax, even on the comfortable, plush cushions. The room was just so nice! She felt like she would mess it up if she actually used it.

"Do you want a beer?" Zinnia called over. Before she could even answer, Zinnia emerged from the fridge, bottle in hand. "Oh, you haven't even had any yet!" She was brimming with excitement to show her something new. "Here, you can try mine!"

"The bottle opener is in the — " Marina began, but Zinnia clutched her vestment sleeve in one hand and used it as a buffer to twist the cap right off. "Drawer," Marina sighed. She went back to arranging the cookies on a plate.

Zinnia popped the cap into a little bowl that was already half full of caps from previous drinks and hurried over to the sofa. Where she was still uncertain, Zinnia made herself right at home. The Warlock sprawled out on the cushions with a grateful sigh and thrust the beer at her.

"I suppose I should give you something better than this for your first drink," Zinnia said. "But Trinity isn't so bad. It's not like you have anything to compare it to anyways!"

She took the bottle from Zinnia — proudly labeled Tower Trinity, the only City brew made with an exclusive three-hop blend — and sniffed at it apprehensively. The smell was astringent and strong. She took an experimental sip. It was…well, it was not so bad. Bitter. Cold and refreshing. The bite of the alcohol was attractive enough for her to try another taste.

Zinnia laughed.

"I'll take that as a good sign! You keep that one."

"Are you hungry, dear?" Marina called from the kitchen. "I know this one is," she gave Zinnia a look as the Warlock zipped by her and burrowed into the fridge again. "We've got just about anything you'd like, as long as you like junk food. I could always scrounge up a sandwich. Nothing elaborate, but perhaps a little more satisfying."

"No, thank you," she demurred. She wasn't going to brave solid food again for a while.

"It's no trouble at all," Marina insisted.

"My breakfast isn't agreeing with me," she admitted.

"Ah, yes," Marina's tone was sympathetic. "All your stomach fauna are trying to get their act together after all this time thinking their job was done. I've seen it many times. Zinnia, on the other hand, has had a garbage gut from her first breath. What are you looking for, darling?" The last was directed at Zinnia.

"Didn't I leave some chocolates in here last week?" Zinnia asked, her voice muffled by the fridge.

"I don't know. I've hardly looked inside since then."

"I don't see them!"

"Don't look at me!" Marina laughed.

Zinnia straightened up and scowled. "I bet Tory gobbled them up! I was going to share them!"

"Why don't you let her stomach rest a while?" Marina suggested. "She'll eat when she's good and ready. If you want some more chocolates, take some of my glimmer to the Exchange." For as much as Marina chided Zinnia, she seemed awfully indulgent of the smaller Guardian. They made an unlikely pair, what with Marina being so patient and graceful, and Zinnia a storm of energy and carelessness.

Zinnia considered Marina's offer for a moment, then shook her head.

"Maybe later. We'll eat these cookies first."

Zinnia bounded back to the couch. She flopped onto the cushions and snatched the vidscreen remote off of a glass table. The screen sprang to life, bombarding the room with sound. Scenes of the City, commercials for all kinds of products, informational segments about Wall safety and travel protocol…she forgot all about her stomach and her worries while she watched. A program declaring itself the City's leading source of news took over. A man and woman news team reported the weather and the state of the Foundries. They even speculated on the Tower — something to do with mine developments at a firm called Hakke. She drank it all in, eager to see more pictures of the City and its people. Beside her, Zinnia watched with a rather bored expression, idly picking at the label on her own beer bottle.

The sound of the door chime pulled her away from the vidscreen. Another Exo entered the apartment. Where Marina was sleek and shining, he was of a much larger build and looked like he had been through hell and back. Every plate was scratched and scuffed. In places, the bluish base coat was worn to the bland metal beneath. He was dressed in a simple short-sleeved shirt and pocketed trousers that looked as worn in as himself, only outdone by his heavy boots. He wore a Mark too, the twin of Marina's blue one. His red eyes scanned the room like the laser sights of a gun. He was an intimidating sight, though the cases of soda and something labeled synesthete he carried under each arm somewhat spoiled the effect.

Zinnia looked around to see who had entered. Her face lit up.

"Boone! You're back!"

The Exo set the drink cases on the little kitchen counter and strolled over to the sofa.

"Of course. I wouldn't miss Guardians." Boone had a pleasant, deep voice, far more soothing than his appearance.

Zinnia twisted around until she was kneeling on the cushions to face him. She put her arms out and solicited a hug that hauled her into the air, wrapped in Boone's considerable arms. She planted a kiss on his weathered cheekplate.

"I see Master Rahool has let you roam free to rot your brain on vidscreen shows." Boone set Zinnia gently down on the sofa.

"Ugh, please!" Zinnia groaned. "As of right now, I'm on vacation from that place. No mentioning of the Cryptarchs is allowed!"

"Uh oh. What about Katilyn and Riva? Or Jorin?" Boone asked.

"They're fine," Zinnia said, settling back onto the cushions. "They hardly act like Cryptarchs. Theyknow how to have fun!"

"You mean they don't act like Master Rahool," Marina laughed, breezing over to the sofa and setting the tray of cookies on the table. She and Boone exchanged a quiet, affectionate greeting.

"Exactly!"

"You ought to give the poor man a break," Marina said. "After all, he has to deal with you on top of everything else."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zinnia cried. Boone laughed and she rounded on him, scowling. "Hey!"

"Allowing you a little fun might mean poor Master Rahool ends up with blackened teeth again." Boone winked at the Warlock.

Zinnia crossed her arms and stared pointedly away from him. "Go back on patrol if you're going to be like that!" she muttered. Boone laughed again and chuffed her cheek with a gentle fist. Just one of his hands could have crushed her jaw.

"You'll get your wish tomorrow morning," he said. Zinnia kept her eyes on the vidscreen, but she reached a small hand up to capture Boone's and hug it to her.

Boone glanced over.

"You must be the new recruit," he said. "I'm Boone-12. Welcome to our little circus." He crossed his right arm over his chest to shake hands with her, his left hand still trapped by Zinnia. His grip was strong and surprisingly warm to the touch.

"Do you mean the party or the Tower?" Marina quipped, returning with a bowl of popcorn.

Boone shrugged. "Both?"

"I wasn't about to let her sit all alone in her quarters tonight!" Zinnia said.

"Thanks for having me over," she said.

"Don't thank us just yet," Boone said knowingly. He went to the kitchen to help Marina. She tried to hustle him back to the sofa, but Boone would not be dismissed. Their banter was quick and easy, Marina's gently sarcastic and Boone's replies low and rumbling with laughter. In the end, Marina sent him out of the apartment with an allotment of glimmer to pick up a few extra party items.

She glanced between the vidscreen, the paintings, and the view of the City below while Zinnia sighed about the news reports or cackled at advertisements she found amusing. Marina politely asked her how she was getting along in the Tower and whether she had any idea what Order she might join.

"What would you say?" she asked the Exo, curious what a seasoned Guardian would answer. She hadn't decided anything just yet, let alone whether she was even staying in the Tower a moment longer than she had to.

"My opinion is of little importance in the matter," Marina said, looking at her through the kitchen wall cutout. The Exo's white eyes appraised her. "You've got a Titan's steadiness, when I look at you. You notice things like a Warlock. And you've got a Hunter's grace."

"Titans can be graceful too," Zinnia interjected. "And Warlocks are very steady!"

"True," Marina mused. "That's why it's not up to others to decide. Only you will know what the right choice will be. Not even your Ghost can make that decision for you."

"Did it take you very long to decide?" she asked Zinnia.

The little Warlock shrugged and fiddled with her vestment sleeve.

"Not really. I knew pretty quickly where I wanted to be."

"It was everybody else who had the speculations," Marina said. Curiously, Zinnia flushed. "I was a Titan before a month had passed," Marina said. "No matter how much the Warlocks courted me, it just wasn't in my heart."

The talk was interrupted by the door chime. A muscular, sandy-haired man strolled into the apartment. He had a few days worth of scruff on his chiseled jaw, and an amused grin on his face. His shaggy hair was half bound up in a short tail, and his brown eyes glinted much like Zinnia's did. He was dressed comfortably like Boone, though with softer boots and a thin strip of cloak hanging over his long-sleeved shirt. A beautifully tooled leather belt sat at his trim waist, holding a large knife. She had him pinned as a Hunter before she even saw the cloak. There was something about the way he moved, fluid and easy. In a moment he had taken in everyone in the room, his eyes lingering on her before turning to the kitchen.

"Sorry I'm late, boss!" He grinned at Marina. "Had to report to Jalaal. You know how the Arach gets."

"Where's Polaris?" Marina asked by way of reply. Her tone had a smile to it as she dug out plates and glasses from the cupboards.

The Hunter scoffed and waved a hand.

"I haven't seen him all day. I told you, it was Jalaal who held me up!"

"Don't tell me you two are fighting again!" Marina sighed.

"I'm not fighting," he shrugged. "Polaris can come say sorry to me whenever he stops moping around!"

"Why do I get the feeling Polaris is thinking the same thing about you?" Marina retorted. "Here, take these to the table, would you?" She set a stack of plates in his hands.

Never losing his grin, the Hunter made his way to the sofa, full of a happy energy. Zinnia kept an eye on him, suspiciously quiet. He set the plates on the table and spun around to face them.

"Hey, newbie! I didn't know you'd be here tonight! I'm Tory. We'll be seeing a lot more of each other when you join the Hunters."

She shook his offered hand.

"When I join?"

Tory's self-assured smile grew even wider.

"Yeah! Anyone can see that's what you are."

"Tory, you'd name a piece of lint a Hunter," Zinnia sighed.

Tory flopped down on the sofa next to Zinnia and swamped her with a hug.

"Daww, it's good to see you too, ZeeZee!" he said exuberantly. "A day apart from my favorite Warlock is an eternity!"

Zinnia swatted at him and glared, trapped in his embrace.

"Master Rahool finally let you out of the Archives?" Tory asked, undeterred. "How's life among the nerd herd?"

Zinnia finally wriggled free and put her chin up as she regarded the Hunter, taking her time to adjust her vestments.

"Intellectually stimulating," she sniffed.

"That's nerd talk for _bo-oring_!" Tory laughed.

"Maybe to you," Zinnia said. "There's a distinct lack of picture books in the Archives, so I can see how you wouldn't be impressed."

Tory took it all in stride.

"I can't believe they haven't thrown you out yet!" he said. "How can you work that close to the Cryptarch and not have pulled like a million pranks on him by now? Come on, tell me you're cooking up something good!"

Zinnia gave Tory a withering look.

"Some Guardians can take their work seriously!"

"Uh huh," Tory grinned, plucking a handful of cookies from the tray and cramming two at a time in his mouth. "Whatever you say, Zee. Just promise me you won't become like Rahool, or we'll have to kick you out of the Tuesday night gang."

"I wish we could kick you out!" Zinnia muttered, swiping a crumb off her shoulder.

"You're stuck with me, babe," Tory sighed, throwing an arm around the little Warlock and putting his feet up on the glass table.

"Pig! Get your boots off of Marina's nice furniture!" Zinnia scolded. She nabbed a cookie from his hand and shoved his feet off the table.

Tory laughed and kicked his boots off. He looked down the sofa.

"Seriously though, newbie. Do yourself a favor and join the Hunters. We've got far too many Warlocks floofing about the Tower."

"What about the Titans?" Zinnia challenged. "You got something to say about them?"

"I got nothing against the Titans," Tory said. "They're good people. I'm only saying that if she wants to get the most out of her Rebirth, she should be a Hunter."

"Gee, thanks," Marina rolled her eyes at Tory and arranged some of the drinks on the table.

The door chime sounded again. Boone returned to the apartment, two women in his wake. One was blonde and smartly dressed in an elegant dress, her sleek hair twisted up and pinned with a silver clip. The other was dark haired with large, black eyes, wearing loose, clothing like Marina and a bright blue scarf wrapped around her head and shoulders. A boy of about fifteen followed right behind them. He was taller than both the women, nearly as tall as herself, and dressed plainly in dark clothing and a shirt stamped with a looping logo, the word Omolon emblazoned below it. He glanced shyly around the room, hands thrust in his deep pants pockets, blinking behind messy red hair that was in need of a trim.

"Uh oh, here comes trouble!" Tory cried. "What's up, Riva? Katilyn? What's up, J-man?"

"Look who's talking!" Katilyn, the blonde woman, retorted. Riva waved and murmured a shy hello. "Who let you back into the Tower, Tory?"

"What can I say? My people need me." Tory grinned.

Marina greeted the women fondly with a hand pressed to their cheeks. The boy blushed when it was his turn. He scuttled over to the windows and perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair, settling his bony elbows on his knees and hunching over like he wanted to disappear. Riva and Katilyn sat beside Zinnia. Boone unloaded more bags onto the kitchen counter.

"I was just about to go into the Archives and drag you out!" Zinnia said to the women. "What took you so long?"

"Guess!" Riva sighed.

"I thought Rahool was going to have a fit when he learned where we were going," Katilyn commiserated. "He was hoping we'd stay late with him and rework the security cyphers. For Light's sake, we've only been meeting like this for a year! He never remembers."

"He remembers — he just doesn't want to!" Zinnia said.

"I told him we'd look at them first thing tomorrow," Katilyn said, "and then we grabbed Jorin before he could be cowed into staying."

She gave a meaningful look to the boy, who blushed again.

"You're not in the middle of studying to become an Adept," Jorin mumbled. "I don't want to make Master Rahool mad. What if he fails me?"

"Like he'd fail the most promising Novice he's had in an Age," Katilyn scoffed. "You have to remember that Rahool's bark is worse than his bite. Even Novices need some time off. It's not good for someone your age to be shut up in the Archives all day."

Jorin shrugged uncomfortably. The tips of his prominent ears were growing red with all of the attention.

"Yeah. You could end up like Master Rahool," Tory quipped. "I shudder to think what he considers fun."

"I think he likes to read encyclopedias and proof equations," Riva said, cracking open a soda.

"Especially if the equations are from Tess," Katilyn added. The group laughed. Even Jorin cracked a smile at that.

"Tess…?" she asked.

"Tess Everis —," Katilyn began.

" — Special Requisitions!" Riva, Tory, and Zinnia finished for her. They all laughed again.

"You might have seen her around the Tower," Katilyn said. "She's hard to miss."

"Master Rahool trips over his own feet whenever she so much as glances his way," Zinnia grinned. "She knows it, and she's got him wrapped around her little finger doing special side projects for her. I get that she's pretty and all, but he acts like such a fool when she's around! It's like he's never even talked to a woman before!"

"He probably hasn't," Tory snorted. "You two excluded," he nodded at Katilyn and Riva. "Zinnia doesn't count."

"Jerk!" Zinnia punched the Hunter in the arm.

"I'm Katilyn, by the way," Katilyn introduced herself over Zinnia. "And this is my wife, Riva." Riva waved. "You must be our newest Guardian."

"That's me," she answered. "I guess news travels fast around the Tower."

"You don't know the half of it!" Marina snorted.

"It's always exciting when a Guardian comes home," Riva said, her dark eyes sincere.

"The Traveler bless your Rebirth," Katilyn said.

"Thank you." She could feel herself beginning to blush.

"Katilyn and Riva are Senior Cryptarchs," Zinnia said. "Katilyn specializes in linguistics and Riva specializes in Golden Age fine arts. Jorin is studying to become an Adept. He's a whiz at weapons manufacture."

Jorin smiled shyly at the compliment.

Boone joined the group in the sitting room, taking the vacant chair beside Jorin. The two exchanged an odd little handshake. They made a funny pair, what with Jorin so wound up and Boone utterly at his ease, stretching long mechanical legs and crossing his boots at the heel.

"You hear Great Dane wants a rematch?" Tory asked Boone.

The Exo shrugged. "There's been rumblings."

"Rumblings?" Tory looked incredulous. "The guy won't shut up about how he's going to wipe the floor with you this time! Man, talk about sour grapes!"

"He'll have to wait," Boone said. "I've got training duty with Swan's Host lined up next week, and for the rest of this one I've got patrols."

"You better not keep him waiting too long," Tory advised. "You know how Dane runs his mouth."

"Let him talk," Boone grunted, inhaling from a can of synesthete. The pressurized, colored vapors disappeared into his faceplates. "That's what he does best."

"We should go with you!" Zinnia piped up, pointing at her.

Tory's look was a mix of dubious shock and mirth.

"No offense Zee," Tory held up a hand to the Warlock, "and none to you either, newbie, but Great Dane and his crew are not for beginners."

"I'm not a beginner!" Zinnia insisted.

"Neither is newbie, from the stories I've heard," Boone said quietly.

"I…I've encountered the Fallen," she faltered. Encountered was much too tame of a word in her opinion, but she didn't dare boast around veteran Guardians.

"You fought your way out of the Cosmodrome!" Zinnia exclaimed. "A lot of new Guardians wouldn't have made it!"

"Oh, yeah. Flew in on an old Arcadia, right?" Tory asked. "Or should I say bellyflopped?" He had a lopsided grin for that. Oh, yes. News traveled fast.

"You have a ship?!" Zinnia gasped. "No fair!"

"I thought Polaris was just exaggerating, but I saw Holliday loading it up onto the refurb elevator this afternoon," Tory said. "Jalaal was practically drooling."

"The Cosmodrome is squarely in Devils' territory," Katilyn said. "You must have had a hell of a time getting out!" Her intent blue eyes reminded her of Master Rahool watching the engram decryption that morning. Cryptarchs apparently had a practiced way of making a person feel like they were under a microscope.

"I wouldn't have made it far without Ghost," she admitted. Her face felt hot. She imagined she knew how Jorin must have felt earlier. Even the boy was looking at her with wide eyes. It seemed nobody knew the part about her being bloodied and Light Drunk. Thank goodness for that!

"You did well to listen," Marina said, finally joining the party. She took a seat on the end of the sofa near Boone. "How about a toast to our newest Guardian?"

There were enthusiastic agreements and nods all around. Marina held out her hand, palm up, and her Ghost appeared. Moments later, Boone and Tory had summoned theirs. Perdita popped into being over Zinnia's palm. She tentatively raised her own hand. Ghost appeared, blinking up at her and looking shyly around the room.

Marina raised a can of synesthete. "To new beginnings. The Light go with you both."

"Hear, hear!" Riva called. Bottles and cans clinked together. The Ghosts spun their fins and chirped, the air filled with the whisper of their delicate machinery. Perdita turned to Ghost and the two buzzed and clicked in sequence, as if they were talking to each other. Boone and Maya's Ghosts elected to return to Rest. Tory's Ghost blinked at her curiously. Ghost buzzed and clicked with it as well. It hadn't occurred to her that the little creatures might be able to communicate in a language all their own.

"You should tell us the story," Tory said.

"There isn't much to tell," she shrugged. "It was just…" How could she adequately describe it? This was a happy gathering. Did she really want to bring the blood and terror into it?

"Survival," Boone said.

She looked to the Exo. Something in his red eyes, in his quiet voice, said he understood what she had been trying to say all along.

"Yes."

"She doesn't want to talk about it right now, Tory!" Zinnia reprimanded the Hunter. The Warlock shot her a sympathetic look. Whether because Zinnia sensed the subject was difficult or because she thought Tory was annoying her, she couldn't say.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I don't want to spoil the party."

Tory laughed.

"You're in good company when it comes to war stories!"

"And we've heard it all!" Katilyn grinned.

"I'm sure one day soon she'll tell us all about it," Marina said diplomatically. "Let's give her a chance to relax. Don't you remember your first days?" she asked Tory. "Constantly being hounded around the Tower, Guardians asking where you were found and what Order you want to join? The attention can be a bit overwhelming."

"It didn't bother him," Zinnia quipped.

"Says you!" Tory snorted. "You practically had a parade the moment you arrived!"

"It wasn't a parade!"

"Oh, no? Falstaff put you up on his shoulders and the entire Host was whooping and hollering. You were the loudest of them all!"

"You're so dramatic!" Zinnia rolled her eyes.

"He _is_ a Hunter," Marina laughed. The joke only made Tory preen.

"What are we going to call you, anyways?" Tory said. "Personally, I like newbie."

"It's too bad we weren't there to see your fight in the Cosmodrome," Boone said. "A lot of names are gained through battle."

She was rather glad they hadn't been there. She would end up with a name like Bloody Nose. Or Puke!

"She's so tall," Katilyn mused. "Like Elodie of the Cloudwalkers."

"Amazonian." Riva nodded.

"How about Two Stories?" Tory grinned. "Or Paul Bunyon?"

"No! You can't call her that!" Zinnia protested. "She was in the Cosmodrome. What about something Old Russian?"

"Borscht?" Tory offered.

Zinnia tried to pull his cloak's hood over his face. Ghost's warning about ending up with a ridiculous name came to mind.

"You're from the Golden Age, are you not?" Marina asked. "Riva, there have got to be some beautiful names from that era."

"Oh, plenty!" Riva agreed.

She wanted to tell them not to bother, but it really would be nice to have a name. She had tried naming herself, sitting in her room and working with the rifle. It was a harder task than she had thought.

"What's your favorite color?" Zinnia cut in, bouncing on the cushions. "There's a good starting place!"

"Lame!" Tory scoffed. "Don't listen to Zee. You'll end up with something truly bizarre. _Chartreuse._ " He spoke with a flourish.

"Hey! I'm good at names!" Zinnia cried.

"Yeah, dorky Warlock names!"

"You're one to talk, _Cheshire_!" Zinnia growled at the Hunter.

"I liked that name!" Tory said. "That was what everybody called me at first," he explained. "It just didn't work for fireteam callouts. Doesn't really roll off the tongue."

"That is something to consider," Boone added. "If your name is hard to pronounce, chances are you're going to wind up with something else, like it or not."

"What about naming her after a weapon?" Tory considered.

"Oh, what? Like a knife?" Zinnia mocked. "Very original, Hunter!"

"Exactly!" Tory brightened up. "Something to do with her height. Something like…"

"Pike?" Jorin finally spoke up.

"Nice!"

"I've heard that one before," Zinnia dismissed the suggestion.

 **It wouldn't do to get confused with another Guardian** , Ghost said.

 **I can check any potential names against City and Tower databases** , Perdita offered.

Now even the Ghosts were getting into it!

"There's all kinds of mythology to choose from," Boone suggested. "It doesn't have to be a name based on physical attributes alone."

"Dorky Warlock alert!" Tory said. "Floofers are always choosing names that way. Let's not doom newbie to their Order."

Zinnia stuck her tongue out at him.

I liked the weapon theme," Tory said. "Hmm…halberd? Longbow? Arrow?"

"Too pedestrian," Katilyn frowned. "A Guardian needs something special."

"Agreed," Tory said.

"Tory is pretty pedestrian!" Zinnia muttered.

"We can't all be a _Moonflower!_ " he retorted. Zinnia flushed. The jab had struck a nerve somewhere.

"I'm sure we'll think of something," she tried to speak up, but the group was too invested in the game to even hear what she had to say.

"How about Quarrel, since nobody can agree?" Marina quipped. "Oh, forget it! I shouldn't encourage these two!"

" _Ohh!_ " Zinnia was bouncing up and down on the cushions again. "I like it!"

She looked around the group in alarm. Quarrel? They weren't seriously going to name her after a spat, were they?

"Quarrel…" Tory tried out the name. "Hmm…"

"It sounds so tough!" Zinnia grinned.

"It is a type of arrow," Jorin mumbled.

"It's unique," Tory conceded. "But maybe too unique. Zinnia unique."

"Shut up!" Zinnia smacked the Hunter's shoulder.

"Quarrel," he tried again. "Yeah. I guess it's kind of Huntery!"

"Well, I think we have a winner," Boone chuckled.

"Sorry, dear," Marina said to her. "Maybe they'll forget it."

"I guess it's better than nothing," she sighed.

"To Quarrel!" Zinnia raised her beer.

"Quarrel!" The group echoed, raising their drinks.

"We can always change it later," Marina confided.

"Just as long as its not newbie!" Quarrel said. Or Pike, or Chartreuse…

"Oh, you're still newbie!" Tory laughed. "That doesn't change just because you get a name!"

"Shh!" Zinnia waved her hands at Tory and pointed at the vidscreen. "The show is starting!"

"Does anyone need anything?" Marina asked, half-rising from the sofa.

"Sit down and relax," Boone chided.

"We know where the fridge is," Katilyn said.

All eyes turned to the vidscreen. Music, catchy and upbeat, was playing over a series of images that looked familiar even to Quarrel. Broad watercolor sketches of the Tower and the City gave way to camera footage of green rolling hills, the City Walls in the distance. A team in bulky armor and fabulous cloaks were walking slowly up the rise. Guardians, she realized. A Ghost hovered over one of their shoulders, surprisingly well recreated. Then the Ghost spoke, and Quarrel pulled a face. Its voice was highly robotic and stilted.

 **How embarrassing!** Ghost sighed.

Zinnia caught her expression and laughed. The little Warlock was watching her reactions as much as the actual show.

"Most people have no idea what a Ghost actually sounds like," Zinnia explained.

 **They're doing the best they can** , Perdita chirped.

"Don't pretend it doesn't annoy you!" Zinnia raised an eyebrow at her Ghost.

 **Of course it does!** Perdita said primly. **But I get my revenge whenever the Warlocks come on screen.**

The team on the hill — Titans and two Hunters whose sole purpose seemed to be sneaking around everything — began to survey the smoking remains of a large farming operation. A hulking figure flashed across the camera. She caught four arms and glowing eyes. As one, the entire group of friends around her began to boo and shout at the screen. The Guardians on the hill readied weapons.

The scene shifted back to the Tower, whose inside was fantastically militarized and technologically outfitted. An actress wearing a silk coat covered in arcane symbols sat mediating on a plush cushion. Her eyes had been made up to be completely black. A long, snaking metal bracelet spiraled down the length of her left arm. Every bit of her skin was covered in tattoos. Incredibly long, painted fingernails arched over her fingertips. She wore no less than fifteen amulets glittering against her silk garments.

"Let me guess…Warlock?" Quarrel smirked.

"Pretty accurate representation," Tory whispered, none too quietly.

"Not just any Warlock," Zinnia said. "That's supposed to be Ikora Rey!"

An Exo marched into the meditation chamber, also in a symbol-scrawled coat, though his was far more plain and loaded down with ammunition belts. His bracelet was only a quarter of the length of his arm. When he interrupted the meditating Warlock, she answered him only in riddle.

"Mumbo jumbo!" Tory yelled.

"Mumbo jumbo!" The group echoed.

"Drink!" Tory hoisted his beer. Everyone took a drink.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you! We have a drinking game!" Zinnia bounced up and down beside Quarrel and grabbed her elbow. "Quick, take a drink! You'll learn the rules as we go!"

Quarrel obliged, nose tingling from the bubbles in the beer.

The show went on, a tangled web of complicated plots and melodramatic relationships. There was more booing and laughter when the Fallen appeared on screen again. Their costumes were grotesque, the two extra arms flopping about uselessly. They resembled nothing so much as a pack of feral dogs dressed in rags and bone, running around snarling and getting sidetracked by comic squabbling. It was amusing, but she remembered her own experience with the Fallen had been one of terrible danger. There had been a burning intelligence behind those glowing eyes in the dark, and a regal pride that oozed lethality through their powerful, supple limbs.

The antics of the fighting Guardians were no less laughable. Fantastical explosions and colorful bursts of light flew around the screen. Impossible jumps were accomplished by very obvious mechanical means. The Hunters joined together at one point to become a whirlwind of death, although first they had to go through a complicated ritual of hand signals and rhyming chants.

"Me and Polaris are actually working on that one," Tory said. "We think we've almost got it!"

"Ugh, they even kept those stupid rhymes!" Zinnia said.

"It adds to the effect!"

"It adds something, all right," Boone chuckled.

An enormously good looking Awoken man appeared on screen, leaning against a desk and tapping a sleek datapad. Just short of middle-aged, he had a tousled, longish haircut and wore an eyepatch that did nothing to detract from his handsome face. Rather, the whole effect lent a rakish air to his scholar's bearing. Something about the clothing he wore, a mishmash of scarves and belts and vaguely technological wear, seemed familiar. When he turned to face the Guardians and gave them a dazzling smile, she saw the emblem of the Cryptarchy emblazoned on his arm. He was supposed to be a Cryptarch, she realized, and it was the golds and earth tones of his clothing that had been jogging her memory.

Zinnia elbowed her.

"That's Master Rahool!" she snickered.

Quarrel's mouth fell open.

"I know, I know!" Zinnia giggled. "If only it were true! That's Dynesh Alton. He's a really famous actor in the City. _He_ can feel free to join the Cryptarchy any time!"

"Ooh, I'm gonna tell Shaxx!" Tory teased, poking Zinnia in the ribs. Zinnia ignored him.

"Can you imagine Master Rahool on television?" Tory snorted around a mouthful of popcorn. "The audience would be bored to tears!"

The "Cryptarch" greeted the Guardians with enthusiasm, stowing the data pad and motioning for them to follow him further into the Archives. He spoke with a strange accent. It was not the faint overtones she'd heard in Master Rahool's voice, but it was certainly indicative of them. Funny how little details like that had been faithfully adhered to, yet his appearance could be so off. The real Master Rahool wasn't an ugly man, but he was no Dynesh Alton. And that eye patch was inexplicable.

The Archives on the show weren't so much a library as a laboratory. In the background, Novices in smart gold uniforms bent over test tubes or fiddled with machinery. At a long table, the Cryptarch picked up a harmless looking blueprint scroll and began to explain its use as a shock grenade.

"Beep, boop!" Katilyn cried.

"Beep, boop!" Everyone echoed.

"Drink!" Boone commanded.

Zinnia laughed so hard she threw herself into a coughing fit.

"On this show the Cryptarchy is always making up new gadgets for the Guardians," Katilyn said. "At least once an episode there's some new weapon they have to explain. Poor Banshee kind of got rolled into us."

"I think the Foundries want to pretend that all weapons come straight from the factories to waiting Guardians, instead of being handled by the Gunsmith," Marina said. "It galls them to think that one Exo could know more than their teams."

"I think Banshee would go on a rampage and destroy the network building if he were ever put on Guardians," Tory guffawed.

That wasn't hard for Quarrel to imagine. The brusque Exo had been nice enough to help her out, but he really didn't seem like the type to partake in this kind of entertainment. Or any entertainment, really.

Despite the disparities, as the show wound on, Quarrel began to realize that the partygoers really were invested in it. They were not so much embarrassed by the gaffes as they found them endearing. The entire tone of the show seemed like a love letter to the Tower from a City of fans eager to explain what the Guardians were about.

Marina escaped during a commercial break to round up more drinks and food. The conversation grew more and more lively — even Jorin began to join in — and her head began to swim from the beer. Zinnia and Tory were the natural ringleaders of the group, both for their strong personalities and the way they butted heads over and over. Riva's shy, sparkling laughter kept things light. Boone's quiet contentment suffused the room. For a moment Quarrel could almost believe they were down in the City below just watching the vidscreen program instead of being the subject of it. Her own recent past fighting for her life out in the Cosmodrome felt more and more like a bad dream. It was hard to imagine any of the Guardians in this room donning armor and patrolling like the ones on the show.

She was a little disappointed when the show ended, but the party continued. Riva and Marina got into a highly technical conversation about Marina's artwork. It turned out all the canvases on the walls were of the Exo's making. Katilyn and Zinnia discussed Cryptarchy business — despite Zinnia's earlier prohibition against it — and Jorin, Tory, and Boone all turned to conversation about something called the Crucible. Quarrel listened in, feeling a vague sort of disconnect settling over her. Ghost flitted before her eyes.

 **You might want to slow down on those drinks** , he chirped. She glanced at the second beer in her hand and grinned.

 **Your cognitive delays are starting to register on my scans** , Ghost grumbled. **Hmph! How can you drink this stuff? Its composition hardly differs from mild poison. Not to mention fermented hops sounds vile tasting!**

"Look at the little temperance preacher over here!" Tory grinned. He too was looking a little worse for wear from the drinks. "Don't tell me you haven't ever messed around with some electronics in the Hangar!"

Ghost's fins twitched in alarm.

 **What? Of…of course not!**

"Did you know Ghosts can get drunk too?" Tory grinned at her. "Get the right interface, say on a jumpship, and they'll come flocking around to "run diagnostics" like bees to honey!"

 **Absurd!** Ghost huffed. **I have never partaken in such ridiculous wastes of time!**

"Too bad," Tory shrugged. "You don't know what you're missing." He let out an impressive belch.

 **Your Guardian is functioning well within acceptable parameters** , Perdita said, flitting over to Ghost. **You needn't worry.** The two examined her, bright blue points in the low light of the room.

I'm not worried! Ghost protested. I just think she could use a little cautioning.

"You're so sweet, Ghost!" Zinnia said. "Perdita would just let me drink until I'm sick!"

 **You certainly didn't heed any of my warnings the first time!** Perdita buzzed grumpily.

"You didn't give me any! You just kept watching me drink and muttering to yourself! Oh, fascinating! What curious effects!" Zinnia mimicked Perdita's precise voice.

 **I distinctly remember telling you to cease drinking!**

"After I was already lying on the floor," Zinnia replied archly.

 **Better late than never!** Perdita grumbled. **It's not my fault you chose to drink with the Titans!** She drew her fins down in consternation. Ghost's twitched in amusement.

The conversations went on. Katilyn, Riva, and Jorin eventually said goodnight through yawns and laughter, heading out the door. Zinnia called for Boone to come sit next to her. The Exo obliged and Zinnia curled up against his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Talk turned back to Orders. Which would Quarrel choose? How did she feel about them? Tory would not give up on his assertion that she was a Hunter, even on his way out the door.

"I'd make a bet with the Speaker himself!" he asserted.

"Have you been to see the Speaker yet?" Zinnia asked from over Boone's shoulder. Her green eyes were finally getting sleepy.

"No," Quarrel answered.

 **We should call on him soon** , Ghost said.

"I want to talk to the Speaker again," Zinnia mumbled wistfully.

"You would bother him every day if you had the chance," Boone chuckled.

"Will the Speaker choose an Order for me?" Quarrel asked.

"No, only you can do that," Boone said. "The Speaker will just help you wrap your head around everything."

"Your Guardian training can begin at any time," Marina told Quarrel. "You will just feel more at home in your Order. There your Light will truly begin to shine."

 **She's right** , Perdita chirped. **It takes most Guardians some time to decide. Although Zinnia practically dragged us to the Warlocks as soon as she set foot in the Tower.**

For once, Zinnia did not have a comeback ready for her Ghost. She had fallen asleep on Boone's shoulder.

 **Oh, you big baby!** Perdita clicked.

"Don't worry about waking her," Marina told the Ghost, rising from the sofa. "I figured you'd be staying over tonight."

 **But will Boone have to be her pillow the whole time?**

"I'm just going to read anyways," Boone grunted. "Might as well make myself useful."

"If you can get any reading done," Marina said. "This one kicks in her sleep! Beware if you ever have to share a tent with her on patrol."

Quarrel decided it was time for her to be going. To her surprise, it was well past midnight. She had only meant to stay for an hour or two.

At the door, Marina took her hands and squeezed them gently.

"If there is anything you need, please let us know," she said. Her sincerity took Quarrel aback. She could see why Zinnia liked her so much. Marina was a fount of generosity.

"Thank you," she murmured.

As she was leaving, Quarrel caught a glimpse of Boone draping a blanket over Zinnia with one hand, Marina leaning over the back of the sofa and speaking to him softly, the picture of a happy, mismatched little family.


	9. The Speaker

**You know, there is a gun range in the Tower. You don't have to keep using your plates to practice.** Ghost watched Quarrel next to the sitting room window as she brought her rifle up to her shoulder again, looking down the sights. The morning sun cast his star-like shadow on the kitchen countertop, where the stacks of plates still stood as makeshift targets.

"I know," she said. "I don't need the range."

 **You will if you're ever going to fire that thing again** , Ghost clicked.

"Maybe I won't," she answered. She lowered the rifle and brought it up again, quickly turning between the three stacks. Ghost's shadow stretched as he straightened his fins, a nervous gesture. He still didn't like any implication that she was not going to play along with this Tower game.

They had been going at it like this all morning. Quarrel had awoken at dawn to deep restlessness. She wished for a vidscreen in her quarters, desperately curious about the City below. She wished she had the courage to go down to that City herself. For the past hour she'd been warring with herself on that point, wondering why she was so nervous — avoiding admitting that she already knew why. Seven hundred years. There would be nobody left to recognize her, would there? She wasn't ready to face that, even though she knew she wouldn't recognize anyone either. She also wasn't ready for the stares and downcast eyes that seemed to follow her and all the other Guardians around when they passed by the "civilians". If it was this bad inside the Tower, what would it be like outside of it? Was she even allowed to leave?

 **It's a little difficult to be a Guardian without a weapon** , Ghost said. **Don't get me wrong — you are a weapon unto yourself. But some backup is always nice.**

"What do I need to be a weapon for?" she asked curtly, raising the rifle again. "There are no Fallen in the Tower." As soon as she had awoken, Ghost had been at her side, chattering away about his plans for her. The Vanguard, the range, the Speaker…all the things she'd foiled by having an upset stomach before the party last night. She had half a mind to shut herself in the bathroom again to avoid his constant stare, and the day had only just started! Would he ever let her alone? Her good feelings from the night before had long since evaporated in the cold reality that she still had no idea who she was. Even her new name was borrowed, a joke tossed out by Guardians who thought she was going to be one of them, not a tie to her past.

 **We won't always be here in the Tower** , Ghost clicked. **We must take the fight to the Darkness.**

She hadn't asked about this Darkness since that first night on the jumpship. Mention of it now made her empty stomach sour all over again.

"Who said anything about we?" she grunted. The plates leapt into the rifle's brand new viewfinder. She worked to get the crosshairs centered on the first try.

 **You're a Guardian** , Ghost said, voice growing a touch hard. **This fight is what you're made for. What we're both made for!**

"What if I want to do something else?" she asked, feeling obstinate in her frustration. "What if I want to stay right here in my rooms? Or go into the City?"

 **You can stay here or we can go there** , Ghost said. **But you also have to train with other Guardians. Your instincts got us out of the Cosmodrome, but they still have to be sharpened.**

"So I can fight this Darkness?"

 **Yes!** Ghost's tone turned brighter, thinking perhaps that she was coming around.

"I'll train here," she said. "This works for me. Besides, we're not going anywhere with a wrecked ship."

 **Amanda will have it finished soon. In the meantime, we should visit the Vanguard mentors so they can help you decide upon an Order.**

"Marina said there's no rush."

 **There isn't** , Ghost sighed, losing patience. **However, we should start s** ** _omewhere._**

"I'll start when the ship is ready," she lied.

 **Why not now?** Ghost persisted. **Don't you want to find an Order? Don't you want to train?**

She lowered the rifle, fixing Ghost with a glare.

"Not particularly, no!"

 **But why?** Ghost burbled in distress.

"Who am I?" she burst out. "Who are _you_? How am I supposed to make any decisions in this place, where half the people have already decided everything for me and the other half won't even look me in the eye because you keep calling me Guardian?"

 **You** ** _are_** **a Guardian!** Ghost insisted.

"No, I'm not!" she cried. "I'm — well, who am I?!"

Ghost did not answer.

"You don't know," she said stonily. "You just expect me to follow you because…because I was dead!"

 **I'm calling the Speaker** , Ghost buzzed. **We're going to have a meeting.**

"Don't bother!" she growled. She turned away from Ghost and stalked toward the rifle case in the middle of the empty sitting room.

 **Too late. It's already done.**

She scowled at the rifle, breaking down the weapon as she'd been taught, though her hands still moved with that phantom knowledge she'd found in the Cosmodrome. She heard Ghost hover closer.

 **I understand you're upset —** he began.

"I don't think you do," she cut him off.

 **You have to try and relax. You were able to last night! You were having such fun, remember? It was so good to see you finally getting acquainted with other Guardians!**

"Look," she sighed, trying to rein in her anger. "Last night was all well and good, but I'm not going to stand around while everyone speculates about what I'm to be. All I want to know is what happened! Is that so much to ask?"

 **I don't know what happened. Please, you have to believe me. I'd tell you if I could!**

She remained silent, setting the rifle into the case and snapping the lid shut. She wanted to run again, to break all the plates on the counter, to storm into the Hangar and demand that her ship be released to her so that she could — what? The question made her even angrier. She walked down the hall to the bedroom.

 **What can I do?** Ghost begged, right behind her. **What can I say to make you feel better?**

"You can stop pushing this Guardian business, for a start!" she snapped, standing in the bedroom and glowering at the unmade bed. She had no reason to be in here. She had no reason to be anywhere.

 **I can't do that** , Ghost said, miserable.

"Why? Are you afraid of that Zavala person? I won't tell him!" She wouldn't look at Ghost as she stalked past him. Back in the sitting room, she realized she couldn't hear him following her anymore. He was watching her from the bedroom door, fins drooping in defeat. She would _not_ feel sorry for him. He was the one who'd gotten her into this mess in the first place!

 _He was the one who saved you from death_ , a little voice in the back of her mind chided.

 **This is so much harder than I thought it would be.**

She almost didn't hear Ghost, he spoke so softly. Quarrel stood rigid in the empty room. There was nothing to be said to cheer up either of them. She looked out the window at the shining City. For a long while, neither of them spoke.

 **You can go down there if you want** , Ghost broke the silence after a time.

"You would go too?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

 **Of course. I will always be with you.**

Her jaw tightened. The horizon beckoned, a seductive question. Permission granted to leave, and still she couldn't move. Seven hundred years. What if she really found out?

"I'm hungry," she said finally, the closest to a decision and an apology that she could muster. "I want to go to breakfast."

 **The kitchen service Frame says there's fresh apple crepes. I think you'll really like them!** At least she could reliably make Ghost happy by eating.

Quarrel splashed water on her face, freshened up, tried to forget the tension while she tied back her thick curls. She picked Ghost's scarf off of her bedframe and put it around her shoulders before leaving. Maybe wearing it would just encourage his babying, but she felt a little off going without it. Besides, the morning would surely be cold.

* * *

Neither Quarrel nor Ghost brought up their spat over breakfast. She took another solitary seat by the cafeteria windows and dug into the foretold crepes. They really were excellent. Their rich taste made the crisp morning pop into liveliness so exhilarating that, with each bite, the restless longing she had awoken with grew to the point she could have said she was Light Drunk again. Hell, maybe she had never stopped being so in the first place! Absurdly enough, the food, the laughter, the golden morning light all but brought tears to her eyes. She was grateful that the other Guardians kept to themselves, grateful that a glance at her reflection in the windows just showed her another hungry Tower denizen and not the hopeless wreck she felt like. Whenever Ghost turned his eye to her, she wondered if he could see through the calm facade.

She asked questions, much to his delight. By the time she'd pushed her plate back and was sipping a hot coffee, he'd covered Orders, their distinctions, the Vanguard elite, their preferences of Light, and even a brief history of the Tower. She made him linger some on the topic of Light and learned that supposedly it resided within her, that it was shared between her and Ghost. She wasn't sure that she could believe the powers Ghost claimed Light could be shaped to achieve, but she couldn't deny the connection that pulled every time he was near. It was what he subsisted on, he explained, and all he would ever need. It would replenish his strength and in turn snatch her from death time and time again.

"Hold on," she said, warming her hands on the porcelain mug. "You mean to say that I could die and be returned — Revived — again?"

 **Absolutely!** Ghost chirped. He sounded far too happy about the prospect.

"But just one more time, you mean?"

 **As many times as I can manage!** Ghost crowed. **Which, as long as I'm safe, is infinite!**

That revelation shouldn't have been any more of a shock than being Reborn in the first place, but she stared at him all the same.

"I thought you were joking about that!" she said, shaking her head. "About falling off the Tower and fetching me…you're saying I _can't_ die?"

 **Not on my watch!** Ghost's fins bristled with pride.

"What about growing old? Getting sick?"

 **Viruses and such can't get a foothold in Guardians. The Light is quite hostile to pathogens. As for growing old, you certainly won't suffer the infirmities of age. Remember Shenu? He's nearly a hundred and fifty!**

"You're joking," she said. "This is just…you're joking! I should jump off the Tower and make you prove it!"

 **Please don't!** Ghost trilled real alarm. **Don't get me wrong — I can certainly Revive you! I just really would like to keep that to a minimum if at all poss — oh, hang on…** he clicked and blinked, apparently listening to something she could not hear. **I just got confirmation from the Speaker about my request to meet with him.** He glanced shyly her way. **He'd like to see us tonight.**

She had almost forgotten her strife that morning. She drank her coffee, giving herself a moment to consider. Would meeting with this Speaker only spur Ghost on? The more she went along with his ideas, the more he would be let down if she decided to leave the Tower. When she decided to leave.

"You told me in the Cosmodrome that the Speaker could explain things to me," she said.

 **Yes.**

"What will he want in return?"

Ghost blinked back at her, uncomprehending.

 **In return? He only wants to get to know you.**

"He won't expect me to be a Guardian too?"

 **Of course he will!** Ghost buzzed. **He is the first Guardian!**

She frowned into her mug. She couldn't expect many answers from someone who had already made up their mind about her. Someone who was also a Guardian.

 **Please, just meet with him this once** , Ghost pleaded. **You'll be glad you did.**

"I'm not making any promises," she said after a few moments. "I just want to talk."

 **That's all I ask.**

* * *

It was raining when Quarrel decided to venture into the City. The heavy clouds massing all morning finally made good on their threat. A dreary, cold drizzle soaked the pavement at the entrance to the Tower docks. She only had to step out from the concrete tunnel and she would be free from the bounds of the Tower for the first time in three days.

Nobody stopped her from taking that step. Only the dock workers watched her, perhaps wondering why she opted to walk the long service road rather than take the pretty gondola, or what business she had in the City. Not even Ghost had any protests, not after she'd assured him she would not skip out on her meeting with the Speaker. He'd grown quiet after breakfast, as if infected by her pensive anxiety.

With Ghost's scarf snugged over her hair and neck and the high collar of her hand-me-down coat pulled up to her chin, she thought she looked unremarkable. Just another traveler caught out in the weather. She shoved her hands in the deep coat pockets and watched her breath smoke in the air. The long road ahead made her want to break into a run. Instead she walked slowly, not wanting to draw any attention, trying to meld into the Cityscape around her. The restraint made her tremble, or maybe that was just her inexplicable nerves from leaving her only constant. Strange, how familiar the Tower felt after such a short time, despite all her confusion and reluctance. Strange, how the further she moved from the monumental spire into the City, the more she felt like an interloper.

Interloper quickly felt like intruder. It didn't take long for her to realize she was being watched. More than just curious glances from passerby, she could feel stares following her every move. Eyes widened a fraction when she threaded through pedestrians, and people quickly moved aside for her, giving far more ground than she needed. Even across the broad street, people would all but freeze until she passed by, paralyzed by some strange fascination that looked too close to fear.

At a street corner several blocks from where she started, a man huddled in a boarded-up doorway. He stuck a calloused palm out in a halfhearted gesture of supplication, a rote plea for glimmer emerging from under the scarf pulled around his nose and mouth. She'd seen him before he'd even moved, her eyes watching the shadows in growing paranoia — she didn't want to call it that, but the prickling between her shoulders felt like nothing else — and so she was looking straight into his tired eyes as she approached. The man swore when he caught sight of her, snatched his hand back and held it to himself as though he'd been burned. His eyes turned to another kind of pleading altogether. Please, don't notice me, they said. Please, let me go in peace.

She had already stopped, hesitating in her need to help though she had nothing to give.

"I'm sorry, Guardian!" the man mumbled, humiliated gaze downcast to the trash-ridden corner. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize…!" He stood like someone waiting to be struck. Every second she faced him was an agony for the man. She hurried on.

Passing a train station, the waiting passengers took furtive pictures of her with datapads. Some people outright pointed, elated smiles on their faces. Many of those grasped a single pearl hanging around their neck, or touched their chest if the pearl was buried under layers of clothing. The happiness should have been a welcome relief from the oppressive sense of fear that had been following her around. Instead it made her even more jumpy, embarrassed for such a warm reception. The whispers and stares chased her off the main thoroughfares into the smaller side streets and alleys, until finally she came to rest on the cracked concrete stoop of an unmarked warehouse. The rain had turned to spits of snow, tiny flakes drifting from the white clouds. She sat wrapped up in her coat, staring into the empty muddy street. Across the way, a small group of people clustered around a trashcan fire. Their stiff backs and shuffling postures let her know she'd been spotted. A dog sat at their heels. It whined and groaned when it saw her, tail tucked between its legs. Thoughts of joining them evaporated.

"What's the matter with everyone?" she asked Ghost, breaking their long silence.

 **Most people never see Guardians** , he said. **It's quite a shock to them.**

"How can they tell?" She wore no armor, carried no weapon, bore no Mark or Bond. To the people of the City, she should have just appeared as another wanderer looking for escape from the cold.

 **You can't hide who you are.**

"Just who do they think that is?" she murmured. The people clustered around the fire had dared to turn their backs, and now she watched them with the same intensity they had shown her. "They act like I'm going to attack them!"

 **You are a warrior of Light** , Ghost clicked. **Reborn to fight the Darkness. That's all they know.**

"They're afraid."

 **Yes** , Ghost sighed. **Despite our best efforts, they are afraid.**

She watched them for a time, thinking over Ghost's words. They kept their backs turned, as if they knew they were being scrutinized and didn't dare turn around.

 **You have to understand where they're coming from** , Ghost said. **The way they see it, their dead have returned with powers they don't understand. Powers that are their only hope of survival. They love you for it as much as they fear you. Whole religions have sprung up around the Traveler and the Light. You've seen the pearls, right? Those are worn by followers of the Light's Truth. To them, you're practically a god.**

"A god?" She grimaced at the notion. "I'm as cold and wet as the rest of them." Indeed, she shivered on the stoop, though it was as much from her unease as from the morning chill.

 **You're a manifestation of their faith. Even to those who don't follow the Truth, you are their very hopes and dreams for a future free from the Darkness. And you're walking about in the flesh.**

She huddled deeper into her coat.

"You knew it would be like this, didn't you?"

 **I thought you should see for yourself.**

No wonder he had capitulated so easily to her desire to go to the City. If he couldn't convince her to stay at the Tower with endless exhortations, he would teach her a lesson instead.

 **Don't take it badly** , Ghost chirped as she stepped off the stoop and back into the street. The people huddled closer together around the fire, watching her go. She wondered if he was talking about their fear or his little deception. She wound her way back to the Tower through smaller arteries, eschewing crowds on the main avenue. Her sweet freedom had turned to ashes in her mouth and she wouldn't blame anyone for avoiding her now. Her disappointment and regret had to be palpable. She avoided the dock workers' eyes when she returned to the Tower bay.

Quarrel took her rifle to the gun range, letting her frosty anger keep worrisome thoughts away. Thoughts that intimated she had no choice but to be what the people named her. She watched an Awoken Hunter raise her hand cannon in one fluid, assured motion and decimate a target. She wished it were as easy to decimate her thoughts. She kept hearing that huddled man's breathless apologies in her mind, even over the percussive gunfire. The Hunter locked startling white eyes with her a moment. Quarrel looked away, feeling like she was looking into a mirror of her restlessness, unwilling to stomach more leering appraisal. A Titan kept glancing her way a few lanes down. He made to come over. She packed up her rifle and left.

Zinnia caught her on the plaza, after hours spent haunting the courtyards and walkways. She'd spent the afternoon moving from one spot to the next, perched out of the way on a bench or a tucked in a corner formed by balustrades and walls, gazing off at the mountains or the City. Snow fell in spurts, softening the air in a gauzy, quiet shush. Not once had Ghost chided her to eat or come in from the cold. He hadn't spoken at all since returning to the Tower.

"Come to dinner with me tonight?" Zinnia pleaded, hopping from foot to foot in an effort to stay warm. She was bundled in a fur-lined overcoat, swallowed in its thick collar, and still shivered uncontrollably. If the Warlock caught Quarrel's mood, she gave no notice. She was all smiles even though she was on her way to the Archives. Quarrel accepted the invitation. Her solitude had not made her feel any better, so she supposed there was no point in avoiding the Warlock's company. Besides, any refusal would surely get Zinnia prying into what was bothering her. She didn't feel like talking about it. Delighted, Zinnia left her, walking to the North Tower and trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

Quarrel shifted on the cold ground, rubbed her hands together, sniffed against a dripping nose.

"Do we have some time before meeting the Speaker?" she asked Ghost. She realized after she spoke that she had taken his presence for granted this entire time, considering herself to be alone even though she knew he was at Rest. Ghost would probably consider that progress.

 **Yes. It is best to go late, when the petitioners have left.**

"Then we'll go late."

* * *

Quarrel pushed her tray aside and picked up her hot tea to sip. Ghost would surely grumble later about how poor he thought her appetite was, but she honestly couldn't take another bite. Not without regretting it later. Everything looked good to eat. Everything was good to eat! She kept wanting to try it all, and so far had only received stomachaches as a reward. She envied Zinnia's ability to pack food away without consequence, and wondered if Zinnia ever envied her satiety. The tiny Warlock seemed compelled to eat.

Zinnia was sitting opposite her, happily working on a steaming cinnamon bun and glancing over notes on a datapad. The text looked completely foreign. Quarrel could read the words well enough, but the ideas made no sense at all. Something about transmat theory and its relation to engram storage. A little light reading from the Cryptarchs, Zinnia had called it. Quarrel doubted she would consider it light reading even if she were three hundred years old, instead of three days!

"What are your plans, newbie?" Tory asked around bites. He had joined them after strolling into the cafeteria on his own, shortly after they had found a seat. "Want to come hang with some Hunters tonight?"

"Still trying to indoctrinate?" Zinnia sighed, not looking up from her notes.

"It's no big deal!" Tory held up his hands. "We're just a laid-back group. No Tower politics. Maybe just some knife throwing."

"Ah, Hunters," Zinnia said, fixing Tory with a weary look. "Come for the tall tales, stay for the knives. Are you even going to let her into the Lounge without a cloak?"

"Sure!" Tory said cheerfully. "Of course, we'd be happy to help her get one of her own," he assured Quarrel with a wink. Quarrel managed a smile. Her attention had been divided for the dinner between the two Guardians and her thoughts about the Speaker.

"Sounds fun, but I actually have a meeting to get to."

"A meeting?" The word seemed as distasteful to Tory as the vegetables he had eschewed at the buffet. "With who?"

"The Speaker."

"The Speaker!" Zinnia cried. Her face lit up so much that Quarrel would have thought someone had offered her a date with Lord Shaxx.

Tory whistled, a faraway look in his brown eyes.

"I remember my first meeting with the Speaker. Seems like forever ago. Good for you, newbie. Well, the offer still stands if you're free later. Just have Ghost 'link my Karma."

"I'll take you to the Speaker!" Zinnia said, the picture of excitement. Quarrel knew by now where his study was located thanks to her afternoon wanderings, but the Warlock was so anxious that she didn't have the heart to refuse.

"All right. I've got to go in a couple of minutes."

The look in Zinnia's green eyes said that was a couple of minutes longer than she was willing to wait. Her studies were long forgotten now. When at last Quarrel was ready to leave, Zinnia practically herded her out of the cafeteria and into the elevator. They rode to the very top of the Tower, their Ghosts coming from Rest to spread their fins in the night air.

Zinnia pulled on her arm, already starting off down the walkways. The snow had let up for the time being, a deep, cold wind taking its place.

"You're so lucky!" Zinnia sighed as she hurried Quarrel along. "I haven't seen the Speaker in an Age!"

"Not since you were a new Guardian?"

"Uh huh. Everyone visits him at least once when they first arrive at the Tower. It's become something like a rite of passage, almost like choosing your Order."

"What's he going to do?" Quarrel asked.

"I don't know," Zinnia shrugged. "When he met with me, we just talked."

"What about?"

Zinnia shrugged again. Her vivid green eyes were a little evasive.

"To tell you the truth, I don't really remember," she admitted sheepishly. "I remember the Speaker — oh, Light! You can't ever forget him! But…well…I was maybe a _teensy_ bit Light Drunk at the time."

"You were Light Drunk in front of the Speaker?"

"It wasn't my fault!" Zinnia cried. "I didn't really mean to meet with him. I just kind of, um, wandered into his study. On accident."

 **Oh, don't believe her!** Perdita chirped from Zinnia's shoulder. **She slipped away from Boone and ran into the Speaker's chamber as fast as she could!**

"I told Boone where I was going!" Zinnia protested.

 **You barged right in and interrupted his work. Poor Boone! He thought he was going to get a dressing down from Zavala that would leave his aural sensors ringing for a week!**

"I wouldn't call it barging —" Zinnia tried to interrupt, but Perdita was having none of it.

 **Oh? What would you call it when you tackled the Speaker at his reading, hmm?**

"You _tackled_ the Speaker?" Quarrel gasped.

"Perdita! You're giving her all sorts of ideas!" Zinnia pulled Quarrel away from the Ghost. "Don't listen to her!" she huffed. "Perdita loves to exaggerate! I just gave the Speaker a little hug."

 **Ha! Little? It would have taken ten Titans to pry you off of him!** Perdita was peeking over Zinnia's head now, determined not to be shut out. **You can just imagine the scene** , Perdita buzzed and chirped as she reminisced, **Boone running in with me at his side, both of us babbling apologies about the disturbance. And there's Zinnia, clinging like a vine to the Speaker himself, who was understandably quite dumbfounded!**

Zinnia was blushing, her lips twisted somewhere between a scowl and a smile.

"There was nothing to worry about!" she said to Perdita. "He wasn't mad at all. I do remember that much!"

 **Thank the Light that he wasn't!**

"I've never seen the Speaker angry," Zinnia patted Quarrel's arm, as though she thought she might have worried her.

 **Let's hope you never do** , Perdita buzzed in warning.

"I couldn't help myself. The Light coming from the study…you'll understand when you see the Speaker!" Zinnia sighed wistfully. "He called me ' _Joy of the Light!_ ' I felt as happy as my Rebirth day all over again!"

They had just emerged from the dark interior corridors leading from the plaza to the North Tower. The white walls and flagstones were washed a pale blue from a glorious waxing moon. The afternoon's dusting of snow remained on the balconies. Pools of warm lantern light glowed in corners where late night stragglers, visitors to the Tower, watched the dazzling City below. Ahead loomed the massive shadowy columns marking the entrance to the Speaker's study. Inside, all was dark.

"Are we too late?" Quarrel asked as they crossed a glassy bridge. The surface glowed with the moon's reflection, dotted with dead leaves.

 **I don't think so** , Ghost clicked. **Sometimes the lights are extinguished so the Speaker may better observe the stars.** Their voices were hushed. Something about the chamber before them made each one unable to speak much above a whisper. Quarrel wasn't sure how the Speaker could see any stars with the clouds still obscuring the sky.

Zinnia was gripping Quarrel's hand now, little fingers squeezing her palm. Anyone would have thought the Warlock was being led to her first meeting. The huge bronze rings she had glimpsed earlier were now folded up in a parabolic dish at the bottom of the chamber. A green orb perfectly outlining the Traveler glowed at the heart of the dish. The only other light came from seven spheres suspended above the ground in a ring around the chamber. She stared at the closest one, entranced. There were stars inside. Galaxies of stars in perfect miniature, spinning and twinkling behind a thin glass shell. Was this what Ghost had meant? The little group drifted to the closest sphere, pulled by its beauty.

"What is it?" Quarrel breathed. The sphere cast a soft pink light over them all. Shadows and light danced on Zinnia's expectant face, mingling with the gossamer light that normally washed over her skin. Her green eyes glowed as she watched the majestic scene.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Perdita thinks it's a map of where the Ghosts came from."

Quarrel looked to her Ghost in surprise. His bright eye was fixed intently on the tiny points of light.

 **A rather simplified explanation** , Ghost said. Perdita chirped, and Ghost turned to her. **I mean, you must admit that it's not quite so simple as it sounds** , he added hastily.

 **Not if you haven't studied with the Speaker himself on it** , Perdita replied, fins twitching in annoyance.

 **You can't tell me that you've definitively pinpointed the origins of the Traveler!** Ghost scoffed. **If that were true, I would think that sort of information would be known to every Ghost by now!**

 **Of course I haven't!** Perdita twitched her fins again. **It's just that the Speaker —**

"He's here!" Zinnia gasped. Perdita and Ghost dropped their argument. Zinnia squeezed Quarrel's hand, turning her about to face a shadowy loft.

Someone was coming down the staircase from that loft. They moved slowly, one gloved hand gliding down the polished rail, walking with a slight limp. Nevertheless, the descent was stately and dignified. The stranger reached the bottom step and moved into the pool of light from their sphere. A man, dressed in ivory and black robes. A blank white mask, finely chiseled into smooth planes, glowed from a black cowl. He came to a stop before them and folded his hands.

"Welcome."

At the sound of his voice, Quarrel let out a breath she hadn't even known she was holding. As soon as she had seen his shadow on the stairs she hadn't taken her eyes off of him. The light from the sphere…it gathered around him, reflecting from his garments and the mask obscuring his face.

She knew that he was watching her, and then abruptly when he was not — when his attention turned from her to the Ghosts and Zinnia. She pulled her gaze from him long enough to see Zinnia smiling rapturously, and she realized that she was smiling too.

"Speaker!" Zinnia said breathlessly, "I've brought the new Guardian to see you! Quarrel is here!" She gave a deep curtsy. Quarrel ducked her head in a hasty bow, following Zinnia's lead. She had forgotten to even argue her name.

"Thank you, dear Zinnia," the Speaker said. "The Light go with you, and with Perdita." His voice was not loud, yet it filled the air around them. And it was so warm, as warm and dazzling as the glow inside the spheres. As warm as the Light within her. Perdita looked like she might burst with happiness. Her fins shivered, blue eye wide. Zinnia gave Quarrel's hand one more squeeze before she released it, making her way to the glass bridge with Perdita trailing behind, looking over her shoulder to catch one more glimpse of the Speaker before passing out of sight.

The Speaker turned back to Quarrel. The rest of the world retreated. Her heart ached. She had no idea why, except that maybe she was so afraid that his measure would find her wanting. She stood as tall as she could under his scrutiny, feeling tiny even though she was looking down at him.

"Welcome," the Speaker said again, and she knew somehow that she had passed his merit. "You must have no end of questions."

The fear and restlessness that had been growing inside her ever since she had opened her eyes in the Cosmodrome turned into a yawning void in her chest, a terrible sadness that she could not keep from confessing. The claw struck home in her throat.

"I don't belong here," she said. "I don't belong anywhere anymore."

The Speaker moved to a low railing, looking out over the bronze rings nestled below. She watched with her heart in her mouth, feeling her breath perilously close to sobs. He opened an arm to her, an invitation to join him.

"You know not who you were," he said, "and you cannot bear what you are now — a stranger in your own skin. The joyous Light is pain within you, you who are an arrow without a mark. The threat of the Darkness is a whispered name you are only just beginning to hear. The Tower expects much of you against this threat, and the City too. But for all their adoration, the City will not have you."

The smooth mask faced her.

"Does that sound about right?"

She nodded, eyes trained on him like a lifeline in a storm.

"Your sorrow is shared by every Guardian who has walked these stones," he said, calm and quiet. "It is shared by all Guardians who have understood that they are now outside of time and place, who have known the war they are called to is not fair. Who have realized that the war is inside of them as surely as it is waiting at the Walls. You are not alone in this."

She lowered her head, feeling at once his words were a rebuke of her selfishness these past few days.

"Yet your pain is also your own," he said softly. "Pain for the unknown losses you carry from the Before. Mourn, Guardian. Mourn for what was and cannot be again. There is no shame in it."

She did.

Huge, hot tears immediately spilled over her cheeks. She turned away, shoulders shaking with sobs she could not control. Ghost hovered close, a silent witness to the grief and anger that had been clawing at her relentlessly. For a long time she cried. At last she composed herself, wiping her eyes with the scarf and facing the Speaker once more. He stood watching her, with no trace of impatience. The maddening, crushing despair was gone. The claw retracted, her breath came easy.

"Every day we hope, we are reborn," the Speaker said. "Dare I say that I see you reborn here before me?"

She nodded again. She did feel new. A gulf had been crossed. A line had been drawn, marking another beginning.

"Good," he murmured.

They stood at the railing for a time, looking out at the Traveler. She picked out the scars on its belly, limned by the City lights.

"What happened to it?" she asked.

She knew immediately her question had struck a chord. The Speaker's sorrow was a physical thing, heavy in the air between them. She reached out to touch his gloved hand, but he left the railing and drifted toward the glowing star sphere.

"There are tales of great battles…tales of the Traveler wounded and broken. Tales of the Darkness that chased the Traveler and which chases it still, without tiring and without mercy. Tales the people of the City whisper to each other when the night draws close and all seems lost."

"Let me offer you a new story," he said, making a slow circuit of the sphere. "The Traveler created the Ghosts with its dying breath. The Ghosts carry out its will, to find those who are weapons for the Light. Weapons of the Light. We call those weapons Guardians. They who will stand defiant in the gathering dark."

He turned to her at the edge of the sphere's glow, half in shadow.

"Make no mistake, Guardian. The Darkness is coming back. We will not survive it this time."

 **The Fallen are only the beginning** , Ghost said, hushed and somber.

"But the Walls…the Tower…?" she asked, unable to voice her sudden fear. _Surely they can keep it out?_

"Our sanctuary," the Speaker answered, understanding what she could not say. "And our last stand. The City trembles on the brink of extinction. Once it fails, the long night will cover all. Our hopeful dream will die. The fear on the faces of those you walk among will never cease, not while they await salvation from the horrors beyond." He turned his head to the entryway. The mask was nearly swallowed in shadow. For a moment she thought he might disappear into the cold night completely, eaten alive by this specter he named Darkness. Her eyes clung to the light of the spheres and the moon, to the soft glow of his garments, reassuring herself that there was something beyond the chamber's closing shadows.

"What can I do?" she breathed.

The Speaker's mask slipped into the light.

"Fight." He whispered. "Join your fellow Guardians and push back the Darkness. It is with them that you belong. It is in that fight where you will rejoice in the knowledge that, no matter what you were, what you are is our only hope. Our humble, infinite, desperate hope."

"How?" she quavered, suddenly fiercely afraid she could not measure up, that she could never be strong enough.

"You hold the Light within you. Your Ghost will show you the way."

She looked to Ghost and saw him anew. The glow around his fins tugged in her chest. He bobbed in the air, a little nod of encouragement.

 **I will** , he chirped.

The Speaker looked to Ghost as well.

"I only hope that you have chosen wisely — now that you have chosen at last." Even without seeing his face, she could hear the triumphant smile in his voice. That triumph swelled in her veins.

He began a slow, limping walk toward the glass bridge.

"Be well, Guardian. Walk in the Light and know that you are home."

She stared after the Speaker long after he had gone. At last she was able to rouse herself and face Ghost.

 **I did choose wisely** , Ghost clicked, fiercely proud. **I know I did.**

Her tremulous smile burst into her first, true laugh.


	10. Here, Now

Shenu breathed deep of the incensed air and tried to control his rising temper. Across from him, Zinnia sat in lotus on the plush rug, her upturned palms cradled in her lap and her slitted green eyes reflecting the flame curling up out of her hands. The single tongue burned steady, lazily flickering in the cup of her fingers. A simple exercise to channel Sol's Light. Zinnia had no problem with it. In fact, she had a notable talent for adhering to the flame. If only she could turn that gift to the Void now!

He had been sitting with her for at least an hour now in the Central Study, trying to get the flame to shift to the compacted glow of the Void, to no avail. Summoning the Void cold, so to speak, had gone nowhere. He'd thought that perhaps attempting to transition already channeled Light might help speed things along. Clearly, that was also going nowhere. Why was it so difficult to summon the Void in her? Was she trying to thwart it?

He could see the tension between her eyes, her face slowly hardening as she concentrated.

"Breathe," he murmured, not wishing to disturb the quiet atmosphere. The study was lit by a single kerosene lamp — electric lighting was distasteful for such meditations — and by the fire in Zinnia's hands. Shadows danced over her pale blue face. A sheen of sweat sparkled on her brow.

"Do not think of yourself as separate from the Void," he said softly. "Its potential exists within you always. You think of it as opposite Sol's guidance, as the absence of Sol. This is incorrect. It exists alongside. One does not cancel the other eternally. One arises, the other falls, and so on through time. Sol has arisen in your body. Let the wave crest, and the Void swell up in its wake."

Zinnia's breath was shaking. She was starting to tremble. The girl was holding on too tightly! The flame in her hands shivered and went out. She sighed, slumping out of her meditation posture. Over Shenu's shoulder, Ushabti fidgeted, dark fins flickering.

Shenu resisted the urge to sigh himself. How could he explain this to her? For him, the Void simply appeared. He could no longer adequately describe what it had been like in the beginning. He simply felt it well up, a great yawning vacuum in his guts and lungs and heart, until it propagated in his palms. He let that feeling come now, and a humming violet sphere blossomed in his own upturned hand.

"Attend," he said, and Zinnia's back straightened immediately. There would be no lazing about in his lessons. So many Mentors let their Novices off the hook at the first sign of frustration and fatigue.

"Hold to your Light," he said. "I will pass you the Void and you will catch it as your own."

Zinnia's eyes grew wary. Shenu knew she wanted to ask a question.

"You will not be harmed, so long as you can allow your Light to embrace the Void I give to you."

Zinnia swallowed, looking even more anxious. In all likelihood, this would end with a bad burn. There was no point in stopping to soothe her. Her Ghost would be able to repair any wounds caused. And perhaps fear would help her break this wretched block at last!

"Hold out your hand," Shenu instructed. Obediently, she cupped her palm. He moved his hand to hers.

"Do not anticipate," he said when she flinched. "Concentrate on your Light."

He gave her a moment. He could feel her tension growing. She sat absolutely still. Even Ushabti, notorious wriggler that it was, did not blink.

He turned his palm over, letting the Void sphere detach. The gesture was not strictly necessary, but he felt he could at least give her a final warning. The sphere fell lightly to her hand. A flare of golden Light surrounded it, sparking against her palm and blinding them both. A moment later she cried out and clasped her hand to her chest. The Void sphere was gone. The lamp flickered.

"Heal her," Shenu sighed.

Perdita appeared from Rest, chittering and clicking while it worked over her palm. He had forbidden the Ghosts from speaking during these sessions in order to maintain calm and quiet. Zinnia had a bad habit of arguing with her Ghost. She ought not to give the creature such leeway to chide and torment! Perdita was too headstrong, and its murmurings now in the Ghost language were its way of bending his rules.

The smell of burnt flesh fouled the air, mingling with the cloying incense. Zinnia's small hand was a charred mess, barely recognizable as a hand anymore. The skin was both boiled and frozen where the two instances of Light had touched it. To her credit, Zinnia did not wail or moan, though tears did sparkle in the corners of her eyes. Ushabti watched her Ghost work, clicking thoughtfully before remembering to be quiet. Shenu rather wanted his Ghost to remain at Rest, but it was good for Ushabti to watch Manifested while the less experienced Ghost worked. Perdita was a respectable, sensible Ghost when it was not being prideful. That didn't mean it couldn't use some pressure in the form of Ushabti's physical presence. Ushabti had a lot of useless talents, but its penchant for quick and efficient healing was not to be underestimated.

Zinnia worked her healed hand into a fist several times, good as new. She turned away to wipe her eyes and compose herself. Shenu sat and considered his options. He could have her fetch a pair of gauntlets for Novices, ones that helped concentrate channeled Light. How he hated those devices, though! Cheap tricks for lazy pupils! And what use would they be if she couldn't summon the Void in the first place?

The girl was just being stubborn. She was getting in her own way time and time again. He would not coddle her with training apparatus and comfortable shielding! Besides, sometimes a sharp pain did wonders to clear the mind.

"I trust I don't have to explain what just happened," Shenu said.

Zinnia shook her head.

"No, Guardian," she answered quietly.

"Sol's Light would have shielded you for a time, but the reaction, as you saw, is explosive. You must match your Light to mine. You must call forth the Void."

"Yes, Guardian."

She looked tired and a little sickly in the lamplight. There would be a point where it would do no good to push her any longer. She would just hurt herself over and over again as she fell deeper into doubt and exhaustion.

This was not that point.

"We will use the remaining time to meditate on the Light," he announced. "You will use this new experience as a guide. You will remember the tenets of the Void."

"Yes, Guardian."

She was growing quieter and quieter. An obedient Novice did not need to be a mousy one!

"Speak up!" he snapped. "Do not sigh at me like an insolent Hunter!"

Zinnia flushed.

"Yes, Guardian!" she declared, a good deal more brightly.

He nodded and Zinnia settled back into her meditation posture, palms cradled, eyes downcast. He continued to sit opposite her, pretending to meditate himself. Instead he just watched her.

Those Cryptarchs were taking the stuffing out of her every day. He still maintained that her promise as a Warlock was exceptional. Why she chose to muddy up her priorities with that pack of fools was beyond him. Even more staggering was Ikora Rey's insistence that she do so! Zinnia's enthusiasm for the Cryptarchy he could chalk up to a Novice's ignorance and naivety. What was Ikora's excuse?

Perdita hovered over Zinnia's shoulder, her eye also downcast to the patterned rug. It was not useless to teach meditation techniques to a Ghost. Ushabti had long been tutored in such things. The effects were never quite the same, due to their vastly different neural structures, but he would not fault a Ghost for trying. About the only thing not disappointing in this whole situation was Perdita. The Ghost was perhaps the only reason Zinnia was not a complete loss yet, though his own mentoring had to take a lion's share of the credit. It wouldn't do to let Perdita develop an inflated ego.

The Bond on his left bicep stung once, as if a hundred little needles had suddenly pushed into his skin. He barely caught himself from hissing with pain. The damn thing was prone to such strange attacks lately. Zinnia did not stir from her meditation. If she had noticed, she gave no sign. Her own slim, silver Bond glinted in the lamplight. It was simple and unadorned, save for one tiny etched vine running through the center.

Perhaps he ought to take her Bond away. Tell her a Warlock who refused to channel could not rightly be called a Warlock for long. If she had to work to regain her Order status as hard as he had worked to be inducted into the Warlocks in the first place…

The datapad at the door to the study room beeped softly. Shenu grit his teeth. Ushabti made a move toward the door.

"I will answer," he reprimanded his Ghost. "Continue until the timer sounds," he instructed Zinnia.

The Tower pageboy standing in the doorway fidgeted with his coattails. He stared up at Shenu and thrust out his hand. A single-use encryption stick sat on his small palm. Shenu snatched it from the boy and sent him off with an irritated wave. The boy scampered down the hall and around the corner. Shenu eyed the stick in his hand. If this communique was what he thought it was, he'd be sure to give the New Monarchy a piece of his mind about entrusting it to the bratty children who made up the page network!

Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Zinnia was still attending to her task, he shut the door, isolating himself in the hall. He fished his datapad out of his vestment pocket and inserted the encryption stick. A tiny New Monarchy crown sigil flashed on the screen over a password prompt. He entered his identification. A message appeared a moment later.

 _Vanguard negotiations are going nowhere. The Bull is Hakke's last try. Do not look to my associate at the next Consensus meeting; he is a dead end. You and I will discuss options after._

 _—T_

Shenu sighed and tapped the screen once. The message disappeared. He removed the stick and a few moments later it dissolved into a shard of glimmer in his hand. He pocketed the glimmer.

So Chancellor Thompson was not going to come right out and endorse him yet, was he? The Monarchy would rather have him wait for Hakke to court Shaxx's sympathy before they would pounce? Typical foolish Faction games! And as for the associate…he'd bet his Bond that referred to Hideo. The Monarchy spent more time playing against each other than anyone else, so it didn't surprise him that Thompson was not trying to get Hideo's assistance. That was fine with him. Hideo had his nose so far up Zavala's backside it was a wonder the man could see where he was going!

He pulled up the Tower intranet, looking for the Consensus schedule. He would have been at the next meeting whether or not the Chancellor had prompted him, but now he knew he must not miss it.

* * *

The timer chimed at long last. Zinnia let out her breath, caught it and looked anxiously for Shenu, then released it again when she realized he was still taking a private message outside the door. Perdita wriggled her fins, relieved to finally be able to move around. Zinnia thought she herself might be fused into the awkward, cross-legged posture Shenu insisted she assume for meditation. Ushabti hovered nearby, blinking curiously at them both.

She held out her previously burned hand and examined it.

 **Did it hurt very much?** Ushabti spoke up. His soft voice always sounded like he could barely get his speech processors to work. It was as endearing as it was hard to hear. He was so very different from his Guardian.

"Light, yes!" Zinnia sighed. "I think the Void hurt worse than the flare of Sol's Light! It was so unbelievably cold!"

 **Um…may I see your hand?** Ushabti asked. She was surprised by the question, but held out her hand for him. The Ghost hovered near, clicking and sending out a wash of Light. Perdita looked on, stonily silent.

 **A good, complete healing** , he announced after a few moments. **Well done, Ghost Perdita.**

 **I should hope so!** Perdita clicked, sounding more than a little frosty. She still did not like Ushabti going over her work.

"It _was_ well done," Zinnia said, hoping to soothe her Ghost's ruffled fins. "Ugh, I don't think I'll ever get feeling back in my legs!" she grumbled, gingerly unfurling herself from the meditation posture. Her bare feet felt like blocks of rubber.

 **Um…I could fix that** , Ushabti offered.

"No, thank you!" Zinnia laughed. "Perdita tried that once, and the pins and needles were ten times worse! I'll be fine. Besides —" she lowered her voice, glancing to the door to make sure Shenu wasn't coming back already — "I think Shenu wants me to go through it. Something about fortitude." She grinned at Ushabti. The Ghost chirped once, a tiny laugh, and the long spines of his shell quivered. It was the only mirth he allowed himself. He especially knew Shenu's penchant for lessons learned the hard way. It seemed to her that poor little Ushabti was often the pupil for those lessons, at least as much as she was.

The Ghosts watched her grimace and fidget as the feeling tingled back into her legs. Light, but it was unbearable! Couldn't Shenu give her one of those cushions he liked to use? He'd claimed they were for long meditations. Wasn't this long enough? Then again, he probably used them on his hours-long Dives.

The thought made her uncomfortable. She didn't much like contemplating Dives. What good did it do to dwell on the Before? In the early days, she had often entreated Perdita to tell her about where she had found her and any other details the Ghost knew. She herself could remember — albeit hazily — the Venusian jungles and clifftop grasses on the afternoon of her Rebirth. Perdita hadn't had much to offer except that she had been alone, was wearing civilian leathers when she had died, and that half her skull had been demolished by a heavy bullet. She had lain in the shadows of a little shack for some fifty-odd years. The shack had rusted in the briny, sulphuric air and she had become bones and cloth for the flora to cover and the fauna to pick over. Then, Perdita had arrived, and everything was new again.

Not that she wasn't ever curious about who she had been. But nobody had come looking for her. Nobody had waited in a crowd and called out to her. Whatever she had done, whoever she had been, was long forgotten to all. She'd had to make a new life for herself, and this seemed as good as any that could have come before. She adored Perdita, even if the little Ghost could be so aggravating, and she reveled in the Light. Before, there had been no Perdita and no Light, and thus her interest waned.

The pins and needles subsided and she was able to stand again. She smoothed her vestments and fussed with her bun.

"Thank goodness that's over!" she sighed in relief, luxuriating in a long stretch. "It feels like I've been hunting down the Void for days!"

 **You did very well** , Ushabti chirped, floating up to her eye level.

"Tell that to him," Zinnia said ruefully, jerking her chin at the door.

 **Guardian Shenu pushes you because he believes in you.** Ushabti blinked at her through his clouded lens, his fins twitching in their nervous way whenever he said something that made him embarrassed. Talking to her always seemed to make him embarrassed.

"We'll see how long his belief holds."

 **Don't worry!** Ushabti said, coming a little closer. **Um, I have never known a Warlock to not have trouble with some kind of Light.**

"Even Shenu?" she asked skeptically.

Ushabti turned to glance at the door, then flitted closer, voice lowered conspiratorially.

 **Even Guardian Shenu! Your Sol grenades are his envy! Um, he still can't muster them as well as you do. Oh, it puts him in a foul mood!**

Zinnia stifled a laugh behind her palm, imagining the senior Warlock sweating as much as she had been as he tried to summon the flame.

"Thanks, Ushabti," she grinned. He was doing his best to try to cheer her up, risking joking about his Guardian when they both knew that Shenu would be angry about it. She reached out and stroked one of his spines with the backs of her fingers, just above his old scar. Ushabti trilled and glanced away, shy as ever.

The study door opened and Shenu's dark form filled the doorway, black vestments even deeper than the room's shadows. His stony expression matched their severity. Whatever had interrupted the lesson had not brightened his day. Then again, nothing seemed like it could brighten the Warlock Mentor's day.

"Your lesson is concluded," he said brusquely. "Are you available tomorrow afternoon?"

Zinnia shook her head. "No, Guardian. I will be in the Archives."

Shenu nodded. His eyes remained cold.

"Very well. Inform me promptly when you are free. We must not delay."

That sounded just like what Master Rahool had told her that morning. She would not tell that to Shenu, however. She may not know how to brighten his day, but she surely knew how to make it worse.

"Yes, Guardian," she said instead. Shenu gestured her dismissal and she hurried to the door to get her boots on. She risked a glance back to smile at Ushabti in parting. The Ghost was still watching her from across the room while Shenu extinguished the lamp and straightened up the study.

Out in the hallway, she and Perdita blinked in the wintry sunlight spilling through the corridor windows.

"Sorry, Perdita," she said. "I don't think I'll ever get a handle on the Void."

Perdita clicked and bumped her shoulder affectionately.

 **Keep working.**

Zinnia felt like getting some fresh air while the weather was still behaving. Adept Dudley was calling for more snow tonight. She really did like snow. It was just a pity that it had to be so cold! She wandered the winding paths that snaked through the North Tower past the Archives and passed through a series of oddly-shaped courtyards. One such courtyard had a swath of dead grass and an old, dry pool from a neglected water fountain. The Tower walls swept away at the far end of the courtyard, revealing a breathtaking view of Twilight Gap. Quarrel was sitting on the brown lawn, enjoying that view.

Zinnia was filled with joy at seeing her new friend, as well as a mix of curiosity and jealousy. The woman was so tall! She was everything she wished to be: her height, her elegance, the way she moved so easily. Tory had her marked for a Hunter, and as much as she wished to disagree with him, she suspected that he was right. Quarrel could surprise them yet, but that grace begged for the Hunters. And she had a ship! And her very own weapon as a trophy from battle! Guardians were already abuzz with her exploits at only three days old.

Despite all that, she was humble and kind. Quarrel hadn't yelled at her for the prank she had played with the elevator. So she would swallow her jealousy and help her settle in to Guardian life the best she could.

Quarrel sat looking out toward the Gap. She always seemed to be looking toward the horizon with longing. That too spoke of a Hunter. It was not enough for those cloakswishers to hear stories or read books about a place. They always wanted to see a thing for themselves. Zinnia thought she could understand that, but it was a little nicer to be able to read about the wilds from the comfort of her bed in the Tower.

Quarrel's pale grey eyes squinted in a smile when Zinnia approached.

"Well, how did it go?" Zinnia asked, taking a seat on the dry grass next to her.

"You were right," Quarrel said. "The Speaker is like no one else."

Zinnia grinned. How she wished she could have another meeting!

"I knew you'd like him!"

"I feel better," Quarrel said, looking back toward the Gap. "Purposeful."

"I felt the same," Zinnia agreed. "The Speaker inspires in a way that the Vanguard can only dream about."

"I didn't know there was a Darkness," Quarrel said softly. "Ghost mentioned it. He was trying to tell me. But the Speaker…I thought…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"What?" Zinnia prompted.

"It's stupid."

"You can tell me!"

"When he spoke of the Darkness…the shadows gathered. Only his voice kept them away."

She glanced at Zinnia as if to catch her laughing.

"I said it was stupid."

"It's not!" Zinnia insisted. "The Darkness is out there, sometimes closer than we think. When you are with a Guardian whose Light shines so brightly, the Darkness throws its shadows. You are of the Light. You can't help but feel its antithesis!"

Quarrel still looked thoughtful.

"What's wrong?" Zinnia asked.

"I still have so many questions," she said. "There's so much I want to understand." Again her gaze drifted to the towering mountains. "He said I was a weapon of the Light. But how can I fight this Darkness? Why me? I'm nobody. Maybe I have always been nobody."

Zinnia felt a wave of sympathy. She remembered these questions, though she didn't remember them hitting her so hard as they were troubling her friend now.

"Does it matter anymore who you were?" she asked gently.

Quarrel considered the question and was silent.

"Do you remember anything?" Quarrel asked eventually.

"Nope!" Zinnia answered cheerfully. She hoped that her good mood could dispel some of her friend's doubt.

"Doesn't that bother you?"

"Nope!"

She laughed at Quarrel's expression. The woman would eventually see what was so funny!

"Believe me, I know how you feel! It's just that I decided a long time ago that it didn't matter. I am here now. I have Perdita. I have the Light. The whole universe is out there, and I can see it again! Death was not the end!"

Quarrel nodded, though she still didn't look convinced.

"There's no way I will ever remember, is there?" she asked.

Zinnia shrugged, plucking at the dead grass tufts.

"There are ways to try," she said slowly, wondering if she should even mention these things. "They aren't foolproof, and they're very advanced. I'd say you'd have better luck trying to interpret a drunk Ghost's scans than untangling your experiences from a Dive."

"A Dive?" Quarrel frowned at the word.

"A Thanatonaut Dive. Thanatonauts bring themselves to Revive in order to probe their minds at death. Well, as close as they can get to death, being a Guardian."

"Bring themselves to Revive…you mean they kill themselves?" Quarrel looked suitably alarmed at the idea.

"Yes," Zinnia replied. "It started as a cycle-down exercise from the Exos, discovered in the Crucible. Then Guardian Shenu postulated it might work on organic Guardians as well, and he began to study his deaths. He's been at it for a very long time. As far as I know, he hasn't learned much. Nobody has. Just fragments of memories, more delirium than truth."

"Guardian Shenu…" Quarrel murmured, thinking. "I met him. Dark eyes? Frowns a lot? Wears that black bracelet?"

"That's him," Zinnia agreed. She grinned at Quarrel's description of him and the Bond. Shenu would not be pleased to hear either things referred to that way. It was funny, but perhaps she should educate her friend about Warlock Bonds so she didn't have to embarrass herself.

"It's called a Bond," she corrected. She held out her left arm so Quarrel could get a look at her own. "It's the symbol of the Warlock Order."

"Like Hunter cloaks?" Quarrel ventured.

"Uh huh. Although, these do more than just look good. A Bond helps you focus your Light." Cloaks were neat and all, but Bonds held so much more potential!

She looked at Quarrel curiously.

"You met Shenu? I'm surprised he didn't pounce on you with questions! He's always muttering that he'd like a new Guardian to talk to."

"Well…he did mention he would like to speak with me if I remembered anything."

"Sounds like him." Zinnia rolled her eyes. "He grilled me when I was first assigned to him, even though it had been months since my Rebirth. I don't know that he's ever really recovered from his disappointment when I told him I couldn't remember anything."

Quarrel smiled sympathetically. They watched a crow circling on the wind.

"I want to go back to the Cosmodrome," Quarrel announced.

"When? Now?" The very idea filled Zinnia with giddy glee. She had never been there, but she'd heard the stories from Cayde's scouts about a swarming nest of Fallen squabbling over Golden Age technology. She was immediately jealous again. Of course Quarrel would have a gun and a ship and an exciting story after being Reborn in a place like that! _She_ had been languishing in a deserted trader outpost on Venus, without so much as a can-opener lying around nearby!

"Soon," Quarrel answered. She played with the edge of the scarf she wore, a present from her Ghost. "Very soon. Amanda Holliday has been working on my ship. It's supposed to be ready any day now."

"I wonder if the Vanguard will authorize it?" Zinnia mused.

Quarrel's expression grew troubled.

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Well, you're new. The Cosmodrome is a dangerous place — not like I have to tell you that! They probably won't want to risk you going in alone. Not until you're more experienced."

"I guess I don't have to go alone," Quarrel said. Zinnia's hopes rose.

"I'll go with you!" she offered, hoping she didn't sound too pathetically eager. She was desperate to patrol somewhere new. If she had to make the same boring circuit around the provinces with Shenu one more time…!

Quarrel looked pleased at the suggestion.

"I'd be happy to have you along. That is, if you don't mind poking around some old ruins."

"Have you met a Warlock? You'd better bring some bags, because we're taking home as much as we can carry! Ooh! If we can get something really good there, I bet Master Rahool would let me off of shelving duty at last!" She could already imagine it: her triumphant return to the Archives with Golden Age tech that would make the Cryptarch's golden eyes pop out of his head. He'd give her the day off. He'd release her from the penances. Light, he might even let her onto the Vault Project!

"We should go check on your ship now!" she cried.

"Sorry," Quarrel laughed. "It's not ready yet! I was just at the Hangar."

Zinnia sighed. Hurry up and wait. Wasn't that always the way of it?


	11. Alpha-1156

Kemal followed the Cryptarchy Novice through the tall Archive stacks. Passing the massive bookshelves and artifact stores reminded him of the College campus' great library, the pride of the City. The Archives were a treasure in their own right, and steeped in the same quiet, studious atmosphere. He felt at once nostalgic for the school. He also felt significantly out of place in his oil-stained work clothes among the gleaming tile and the Order's clean robes.

The Novice was surprisingly young, not nearly out of his teens. The boy had introduced himself as Jorin, stammering nervously in the atrium about a problem with a Frame before hurrying to show Kemal the way. He hadn't thought anyone so young could be employed by the Cryptarchy. The kid must have been some extra kind of genius to be in their ranks so soon. He felt a pang of annoyance. All his long nights during the semester while his friends partied and he worked himself into a stupor, and he was clinging to the fringe of Tower society by fixing up Frames and tidying up rooms. Meanwhile, this kid was at the heart of the Cryptarchy, one of the most coveted paths out of the College. Kemal tried to push the uncharitable thoughts away. It wasn't Jorin's fault. Tamara was always saying that Master Rahool held high standards for applicants and that it was next to impossible to actually become a Novice. Jorin must have earned it.

"What exactly is the problem?" he asked Jorin, trying to be polite and make conversation. His voice echoed in the vaulted room. A cluster of Novices looked up from a nearby table and frowned at him. Whatever they were working on, they weren't very relaxed about it.

"Uh, well…our janitorial Frame…uh, it keeps whistling," Jorin mumbled. Getting words out seemed like a chore for the kid. Jorin shoved his hands in the pockets of his plain brown robes and hunched his shoulders like he was trying to sink into himself. He was tall, at least a head taller than Kemal, who wasn't considered short either.

"Whistling?" Kemal laughed. The Novices glowered. He winced and tried to keep his voice down. "That's not unusual. Lots of Frames pick that up. Their speech processors find it relatively easy to mimic."

"Yeah, but uh…this one keeps, uh, whistling all the time. I mean, all the time. It won't talk anymore. It's driving Master Rahool insane."

Kemal shrugged. Fair enough. He supposed the Master Cryptarch should be kept happy, at least for the sake of the Novices. He'd heard the man had a bit of a temper.

Before they even came in sight of the Frame, Kemal began to hear a warbling, cheerful tune drifting through the grand chamber. The whistle had a slightly processed edge to it, the telltale mark of Frame speech. It was really going to town. Jorin led him down a narrow run between two shelves stuffed with enormous books so old their leather covers had cracked and faded. Kemal was glad the kid was around to show him where to go. Between the shelves, the place was like a maze.

The stacks ended in a sunny alcove. Here sat a fantastically messy desk and a highly cushioned chair. A fat orange cat had made itself a home on the cushions, asleep in a shaft of sunlight pouring through a tall stained glass window. A potted flower sat on the edge of the windowsill, bright orange and cheerful. Below that window stood the whistling Frame, standing at the ready. A short Awoken woman watched it closely. Kemal felt a thrill run through him. She was no Cryptarch. She was a Guardian. Those soft grey garments she wore were casual Warlock vestments, and there was a silver Bond wrapped around her left bicep. Her Ghost was hovering over her shoulder.

The Guardian turned around. Her large eyes were electric green, glowing in the sunlight. She glanced at Kemal's work uniform and put two and two together. Her lips pulled down in a pout.

"You aren't going to fix him, are you?" she asked anxiously.

Kemal hesitated.

"Um, well, I was asked to take a look, Guardian."

"Sorry, Zinnia," Jorin mumbled to the Warlock. "You know Master Rahool isn't going to let this keep up."

 **Let him do his job!** the Ghost said. She had a prim and precise voice, and was taking on a decidedly stern tone with her Guardian.

"Go ahead," the Warlock sighed. She stepped aside to let Kemal get a closer look. She was tiny, barely coming up to his shoulder. Jorin absolutely towered over her.

"When did this all start?" Kemal asked. He tapped the Frame's left forearm twice. The machine obediently held out its arm and turned it over so he could read the registration number printed on the inside of its wrist joint.

"Oh, I've been teaching Alpha to whistle for weeks now!" The Guardian, Zinnia, announced happily.

"Alpha?" he repeated. She had named the Frame? Then he saw the registration number: A-1156. He grinned. Alpha. Of course.

"Yeah! He was trying to whistle while he was mopping up a spill, so I taught him a couple tunes. He learned those real quick, so I taught him some more. He's really good!"

Kemal had to admit she was right. Alpha, while compliant with his inspection, was still whistling away with startling fidelity. He thought he could recognize The Guardian's Chant.

"I'll say," Kemal agreed with her. He moved around to the Frame's back, tapping the base of its neck servo to let it know that he would be dealing with control panels and that it should override its protection protocol. The Frame relaxed its attentive stance and tilted its head forward. A panel on its back slid open. Good. Whatever was causing the chronic whistling had not overridden its diagnostic command responses. That would made his work a whole lot easier. Kemal reached into the open panel, looking for the standby breaker.

"That's not going to hurt him, is it?" Zinnia asked. Her concern was funny, but he didn't dare laugh.

"Not at all," Kemal assured her. "Alpha is just going to go into power down for a little bit. It's like a nap."

The Warlock looked at him with narrowed eyes a moment, as though she were testing him for the truth. He felt a little panicked. He didn't want to think what would happen if she did not like what she saw. At last she nodded.

"They aren't, uh, like Ghosts," Jorin said. "It's not, uh…it's not the same as if he were poking around inside Perdita's casing."

 **Oh! The very idea!** the Ghost buzzed indignantly. Kemal kept his focus on Alpha, worried that she might suddenly understand how very interested he was in Ghost physiology.

Zinnia regarded the Frame fondly.

"I know that. But we should still be nice to them!"

Kemal couldn't argue with that. The robots were designed to take punishment, but their service was invaluable. Working among them all day and seeing some of their notable "personalities" develop was also admittedly endearing. Kemal's fingers brushed the standby breaker. Alpha went offline with a last, bright whistle. Its optic sensor began to blink a steady, slow pulse.

 **I admire your empathy for Frames** , Perdita chirped. **But you're really being quite ridiculous when you assign them feelings!**

"You're just jealous that Alpha can whistle better than you," Zinnia said.

 **What? That's absurd! I can whistle perfectly well!**

"Let's hear it, then!"

 **I…I don't feel like it!** Perdita clicked, her fins bunching together in front of her eye. Zinnia whistled a few notes at her Ghost, her expression smug.

Kemal listened, fascinated. So that new Guardian's Ghost was not an anomaly. They really were sentient little creatures, as sophisticated in their expressions as people. He thought about Blair and his wish to take a Ghost to the College. Doctor Deneve really would be beside himself. The professor was always positing Ghost sentience as an acquired behavior, an intricate subroutine that "learned" City culture at a staggering rate. Kemal had never believed that mimicry theory himself. Now, listening to Perdita, he was certain that Deneve was wrong. Could a subroutine be so _human_?

While the Guardian chatted with her Ghost and Jorin, Kemal hooked his diagnostic datapad into the Frame and went through a mental checklist of possible causes for Alpha's condition. If he had to bet glimmer on the problem, he'd say it was a degradation of the Frame's speech processors. A fault there could easily cause something like a stutter or garbled, backwards speech. It was no stretch of the imagination to include incessant whistling as a symptom. That could be handled easily enough back at the Frame shop. Cognitive subroutine malfunction would be a lot more difficult fix, as he'd have to hunt down exactly where the breakdown was happening. The Cryptarchy wouldn't have their janitorial Frame back for several days if that were the case. There were fast and crude methods to diagnose and remedy cognitive dysfunctions, but they had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer on glass. In Kemal's opinion, the problem often reared its head again after such a quick fix. He'd rather take his time finding the problem and fix it once. Besides, he didn't think he could get away with any such indelicate methods if Guardian Zinnia caught wind of it!

"I've got to get back to the engrams," Jorin said after a few minutes. "Oh, uh, Katilyn asked me to find out, uh…to find out if you can work on translation tomorrow."

"I can't," Zinnia sighed. "I'm scheduled for study all day with Shenu."

"All, uh…all day?"

"And probably into the night," Zinnia groaned. "I'll be doing penances for a week if I say no to him."

Jorin shrugged and shuffled from foot to foot.

"Oh. S-sorry. Uh…well, Katilyn won't argue with that."

"It's not her I'm worried about. You want to tell Master Rahool for me?" Zinnia wheedled. "I'll take one of your shifts!"

Jorin snorted once, an incredulous laugh. It was the most outgoing sound Kemal had heard the kid make yet.

"N-no way! He shoots the messenger!"

Kemal blinked in surprise. Was he hearing things right? A Guardian was afraid to speak to the Master Cryptarch?

"You're all heart!" Zinnia grumbled.

Jorin waved goodbye and slouched off down the hall, leaving Kemal alone with the Warlock. Sweat started springing to his pores. Zinnia took no further notice of him. She pawed through papers on the messy desk. Her Ghost blinked placidly, watching her Guardian and occasionally watching him. A part of him itched to say something to her, anything, just to have one of the Light Blessed actually speak with him again. A part of him didn't dare. Instructions were to not disturb a Guardian's work. It was even frowned upon to bother them if happening upon one in the Lounge or cafeteria. He thought of Chelise and her insistence that he was in the best position to learn about the goings-on of the Tower. She'd made asking those questions sound so easy. Could she possibly find the courage to speak up and ask about Fallen attacks while standing not ten feet from a Guardian?

The datapad beeped, indicating it had completed its diagnostic run-through. Kemal smiled in satisfaction. A faulty speech processor, just as he'd guessed. He would have good news for the Cryptarchy after all. It would just be a quick jog to take Alpha to the workshop and he could have the work done that afternoon. He cleared his throat, fearing to break the Archive's heady silence and presume upon the Warlock.

"Alpha just needs some fine-tuning on his speech processor," he said, trying to take the nervous squeak out of his voice. "I'll take him with me to the workshop and he'll be back in time for dinner." A little humor couldn't hurt. Zinnia grinned at him, the joke not lost. Her front teeth had a little gap between them, reminding him of Tamara's younger sister. Except Tamara's younger sister couldn't kill him where he stood in the blink of an eye.

Kemal unplugged the datapad and flicked the standby breaker. Alpha whistled once. He closed the back panel and tapped the back of its neck again. The Frame straightened up, alerted that its diagnostics were complete. Where it should have reported its registration number and status, Alpha only began to whistle once more, aimless and cheerful.

"Follow me, Alpha," Kemal ordered the Frame. It stepped away from the wall.

"Aww, I'm going to miss having a whistling buddy," Zinnia sighed.

"You could still teach him after this," Kemal suggested, zipping up his datapad in its worn case. "He'll just be a better communicator now in between his music lessons."

The Warlock's eyes were fastened on the datapad case.

"What's that?" she asked with interest, already forgetting about the Frame. She was looking at the stickers covering the case. One in particular stood out, an old band logo from a group he and Inacio used to listen to at local clubs around the College.

"Oh…that's just something I got from a concert," he said.

He'd mostly forgotten about all the old decorations. They were there largely to help him identify his datapad at a glance from the dozens of other similar looking models in the Frame shop. Thatwas a good band, however. Still popular with most of the College students.

"I want to go to a concert!" Zinnia's eyes lit up. She stepped forward to take a closer look at the case. Kemal stood by awkwardly, feeling his heart leap into his throat. Blessed Light! Should he offer to let her hold it now? He was ready to gift it to her, should she ask!

"Hmm," she mused. "It looks like a Vex symbol I saw recently. Except without that funny squiggly bit." She wiggled her fingers over a neon slash on the logo.

Kemal was utterly lost. What was a Vex?

"Entirely coincidence!" Zinnia said happily. "I'm seeing those symbols everywhere these days. Ugh, if I could just convince the Vanguard to let me back to Venus, I could do a proper study!"

Kemal gaped at her.

"You've been to Venus?" he asked, before he could stop himself.

"Oh, not since Perdita found me." She gestured at her Ghost hovering nearby. Her eyes were still on the sticker.

Bolstered by her amicability, he dared another question. He really ought to be going, but the shop could afford to wait a few more minutes. Behind him, Alpha continued to whistle away, still standing at attention, waiting for Kemal to move.

"What's it like?"

"Hot," she frowned. "Soaking wet. I thought I would never dry out!" Her green eyes fixed him to the spot. "You know, I think it's not that I've seen a symbol like this before in a book. I saw it in the ruins of the Ishtar outpost we passed on the way down the sea cliffs." Kemal was at a loss for words. Did she expect him to answer? Zinnia chewed on her thumbnail, releasing him from her gaze.

"I can't really remember…that was a while ago…Perdita, did you notice whether the geography had a spiraling look to it from above?"

Her Ghost clicked, little fins twitching.

 **I did not commit a scan to memory. I was a little busy with your Rebirth.**

Guardian Zinnia waved that away, still chewing on her fingernail.

"That's okay. It's just…hmm…I think maybe I've been going about the Vault entryway all wrong. Maybe the patterns we've been studying aren't a layout of the foyer, so to speak. Maybe…oh!" Her bright eyes widened at Kemal. He didn't dare say a word.

"Stand there!" she said. Kemal did as he was told.

The Warlock zipped twenty or so paces to his left and stopped.

"Alpha, come here and stand in this spot!" she called to the Frame. Alpha obliged, whistling merrily.

Zinnia raced back to the desk, where she scooped up an armful of papers. She began to place them on the floor between Kemal and the Frame at intervals, in an ever-tightening spiral. Then she dashed back to the desk and gathered an armload of books. Those she placed in little rings around their feet, and one ring in front of a paper path leading to the spiral. Once more she ran to the desk. Without missing a beat, she hopped up onto it in one go. Kemal's mouth hung open. She had simply floated in the air before touching down gently upon the top. She had used her Light! Right there in front of him! The hair on the back of his neck stirred.

 **What are you doing?** Perdita chirped.

Zinnia frowned, looking at the nearby bookshelves. "I need a better view! Maybe I could get up on top of the stacks?"

 **Ahem. If you need a look from up high, perhaps I could oblige? You know, the one of us who can actually fly? Master Rahool will skin you alive if he catches you climbing those shelves!**

"Good idea!" Zinnia grinned. "Get a picture of this, as high as you can!"

Perdita flew above their heads in a soft, musical whir, quick as a hummingbird.

"Hang on a second!" Zinnia jumped down — this time with no assistance from her Light, her soft boots slapping the tile floor — and scuttled over to the one empty book ring.

"Okay! Now!"

 **Done** , Perdita clicked after a moment. She floated back down to her Guardian.

 **I think I see what you're getting at here, but we already know the layout of the Waking Ruins. You've already postulated there were other sites like it throughout the region.**

"Yes, but I think I've just understood it!" Zinnia beamed. "It matches the map symbols in these three rings. That has to mean something! These nodes are important! I bet they're access points, a conflux of some kind. Whatever they are, they have to be something important! Those minotaur models were nearby in every single report I've read. I think they're guarding them!"

Kemal was lost, but caught up in the Guardian's excitement. He also seemed to be quite forgotten.

 **Interesting…** Perdita trilled. **Do you suppose they hold the keys?**

"My thoughts exactly," Zinnia said. "The question is, how do we get them for ourselves? Are they physical? Do we mimic their signatures? Do we trick them into standing on the nodes?"

 **That's assuming the nodes actually trigger anything at all.**

"That's practically a given!"

 **From some very old research…**

"But very painstaking old research! Master Adonna's records are still really precise, even accounting for changes in the environment over the past two hundred years!"

 **Well, I'd say it's worth looking into** , Perdita chirped.

Meanwhile, Kemal just stood in his spot. He didn't dare excuse himself without the Guardian's permission.

"Am I interrupting something?"

The soft voice surprised them all. Kemal turned and had another thrill. It was that new Guardian! None of them had heard her approach. She was looking considerably more rested than when Kemal had seen her last — and a good deal cleaner, as well. Her intense grey eyes took in the peculiar scene before her. When they lighted on Kemal, he knew he had been recognized. He suppressed a shiver. They still burned with that mysterious knowledge.

"Hey!" Zinnia called. "Come in! We're talking about the Vault!"

 ** _You're_** **talking about the Vault** , Perdita clicked. **Our technician here is waiting to be allowed back to his work.**

"Oh!" Zinnia turned to Kemal, cheeks flushing. "I forgot! You can go now. Thank you. You've been most helpful."

Kemal couldn't keep from grinning with pride. It wasn't every day a Guardian called you helpful. He had no idea what he'd done, but he was happy nonetheless. He tugged the brim of his work hat to the Warlock and the new Guardian and called for Alpha to follow him once more. The new Guardian watched the Frame pass with bemused puzzlement.

He left the Guardians, wishing that he could be a fly on the wall, wishing that he had been brave enough to speak even more. The Light Blessed didn't seem so unapproachable after all. At least, not that Warlock and her Ghost. Maybe he really could get some answers for Chelise.


	12. The First Quest

**Don't be nervous** , Ghost counseled.

"Who said anything about nervous?" Quarrel murmured, a little annoyed that Ghost could sense how she felt. She swept down the promenade on another cold, cloudy morning, heading toward the grand staircase that would take her to the Vanguard Hall.

 **Your telemetry is spiking.**

Well, that explained that. Was there nothing about her that Ghost wouldn't know first? Were there to be no secrets?

 **You want to present a confident front to the Vanguard** , Ghost instructed, as though she weren't already painfully aware of that. **Your request is certain to be denied if you seem unsure of yourself.**

"I'd think you would like that," she said, her nerves making her feel a little unkind. Ghost had been giving her an earful ever since she had confessed to Zinnia yesterday that she would like to return to the Cosmodrome.

 **I'm still not sure this is the best course of action** , Ghost fretted. **Why can't you wait for a full fireteam to join you?**

"Because I don't know what I'm looking for!" she sighed. It felt like the hundredth time she'd had to explain herself. Ghost's overprotective nature was starting to wear on her again. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his help or concern. It would just be nice to be able to move about without him worrying over every little thing! He made her question something as simple as pouring a glass of water!

"Why would I drag another Guardian along just for my wandering?" she asked.

 **You were content to ask Zinnia** , Ghost pointed out.

"Of course _she_ wouldn't mind," Quarrel sighed.

 **Others might not.**

"I'm not even planning on combat! I just want to see the Cosmodrome again. I want to know if it will spark any remembrance."

 **As far as I'm concerned, there's only one event there worth remembering and that's your Rebirth** , Ghost grumbled.

"Can you blame me for being curious about what happened before that?" she asked.

 **I can tell you what happened! There was about seven centuries of wind and decay. One of those centuries had an unusually warm spell, and reports say that the entire grassland was covered in early spring blooms. The Fallen picked over the ruins and fought for territory. The Vanguard declared —**

"You know what I mean!" she groaned. Her footsteps made slight echoes off the polished marble tile. The walls and ceiling gathered close in the Vanguard passage and the darkness was cool with the smell of moisture. Banners for the Crucible hung across the narrow chamber, the sign-up desks and ranking kiosks deserted. It was early yet, and Lord Shaxx was not present. Indeed, the whole plaza above was deserted. What did Ghost want of her anyways? Probably to sit in the cafeteria and eat! Or to train endlessly with Banshee until she could perfectly decimate wooden targets. As if that were the same as live combat! She'd only spent the last four days arguing with him about leaving the Tower in the first place, and now he didn't want her to go!

"Wouldn't you want to know who you were?" she asked, trying to remain patient.

 **That's irrelevant** , Ghost clicked. **I know who I am.**

"Well, congratulations! Now it's my turn!"

Ghost hummed, a fluttery little sigh.

 **Doesn't your time after Rebirth count for anything?** he asked. His tone was so melancholy that she almost stopped to apologize. But she had just crossed the threshold to the Vanguard Hall and there was no time to answer. Ghost had said that Cayde-6 was pulling early morning duty. The Hunter Vanguard was working with such alert purpose that she couldn't believe he hadn't volunteered for it himself, never mind that Exos didn't need sleep. A single helium lantern lit a portion of the long, glassy table he leaned over. Early dawn light glowed pale grey through the large bay windows at the back of the chamber.

Quarrel hesitated on the threshold, wondering if she should come back later. Then Cayde looked up from the holoscrolls he was studying and she knew there was no turning back. His bright blue eyes gleamed.

"Well, come on in, new kid! Don't be shy!"

His easy drawl sounded sincere enough. She descended the wide, marble steps at the head of the Hall, approaching the massive table. Tapestries hung around the oval room, ornate and incomprehensible for the most part, though she did recognize the symbols of the Orders — Hunter, Warlock, Titan. And one for the Vanguard. She was pleased with her ability to recognize these things so quickly now. The awkwardness of being a new Guardian made her constantly feel three steps behind, even as Guardians like Zinnia tried to bring her up to speed.

"My Ghost got word you wanted to drop by for a visit," Cayde said, touching a holoscroll and letting it roll up into a neat sheathe. "Let's talk."

"Vanguard," she said. And then, thinking better of it, she decided to add a neat little bow like the Awoken were wont to do.

Cayde started to laugh, deeply amused.

"At ease, Guardian. No need for theatrics here. At least not until Ikora arrives."

She was glad the dim light could hide her blush.

"What can I do for you?" Cayde leaned a hip against the table, arms crossed over his chest. Every movement screamed Hunter. His was an easy, effortless grace that made even the likes of Tory look like an absolute klutz, even though Cayde was not flesh and bone. He had his cloak's cowl pushed back. The stark lantern light revealed nicks and scratches on his skull casing that hinted at battles long past. The cloak itself looked unbelievably old, patched up with thick thread in many places, the edges frayed and tattered. She was a little surprised that the head of all Hunters did not have the most elaborate, colorful cloak of all. She wasn't sure what she had expected, but it certainly wasn't something so…plain.

"I have a request," Quarrel said. "I'd like to return to the Cosmodrome."

Cayde nodded slowly. Maybe it was her imagination, but the lights of his eyes seemed a little brighter.

"That's where your Ghost gave you the wake-up call, ain't it?"

"Yes."

"Pretty rough territory." When he spoke, a stark orange light rose in his throat, making the inside of his jaws glint. It was a strange effect peculiar to Exos, and it made him all the more intimidating at the moment.

"Guess I don't have to tell you that, though." he said. "You got a fireteam?"

There was no sense in lying. She had a feeling Cayde would be able to tell anyways.

"Guardian Zinnia is interested in coming along."

Cayde chuckled.

"'Course she is. What's the rush?"

This time she hesitated. Would Cayde upbraid her just like Ghost for telling the truth? She looked straight into his eyes. No, she wouldn't hide from this.

"I want to see if I can find out why I was there."

"Ah." Cayde unfolded from the table and strolled toward the windows. She came to stand beside him, a respectful distance apart, and they looked out at the jagged mountain range beyond a section of abandoned, crumbling Wall. Thick fog flowed in slow rolls through the valleys below, lapping around stands of pine.

"The first quest of every Guardian," Cayde said. "To find out who they were. You know, I haven't met a Guardian yet who didn't make that top priority at one time or another. I also haven't met anyone who ever figured it out. Myself included, and I was Reborn in some pretty specific circumstances."

She watched him as he watched the mountains. Disappointment crept in. He was laughing at her, wasn't he?

"You think it's foolish," she said.

"I didn't say that," Cayde replied, eyebrow plate twitching. "Truth is, I'd be mighty surprised if you showed no curiosity one way or the other about it."

He went back to studying the view.

"The Cryptarchs can analyze your DNA. Point you to the nearest living relatives. Any relations are bound to be so distant they had no idea you even existed, but I expect they'd claim you all the same. It'd be a huge point of pride for most civilians to be able to say there's a Guardian in the family."

She stared at him, astonished. Why hadn't she thought of that?

"I could have family in the City?"

Cayde shrugged. Even that was elegant.

"Sure. But like I said, they'll be so spread out on your family tree, they might as well be in the next orchard."

"Why is that?"

"Nobody knows. The Warlocks got their theories, of course. Stuff about no worldly ties and whatnot."

She went silent. She had not expected such a simple answer to her troubles. And yet…

"That still won't explain why I was in the Cosmodrome."

"Nope. I don't expect it would."

"It also won't get me outside the City," she said.

Cayde looked at her. This time she was positive his eyes were shining brighter.

"Ikora's gonna pay up big time," he said.

 **Pay up?** Ghost clicked. **What do you mean?**

"Oh, just a friendly wager on what Order new kid is gonna choose. I bet Hunter, of course." Cayde winked at her.

 **Oh.** Ghost did not sound very amused. Cayde went back to his place at the table, considering a large, yellowed map rolled out across its surface.

"Tell you what. I'll authorize a launch to the Cosmodrome for you and Zinnia."

Quarrel could hardly believe her ears.

"We'll call it a scouting mission. In return, I want you both to come back in one piece."

She nodded. He sounded an awful lot like Ghost just then, but she was so happy it was hard to care.

"Thank you, Vanguard. We'll be careful."

"See that you are. We need every Guardian we can get. Besides, I'll get chewed out somethin' fierce if you go in for the final dirt nap so soon."

"Well, I wouldn't want you to lose your bet," she said, before she could think better of it. She steeled herself for the reprimand.

Cayde laughed, loud and freely.

"Ha! Hoo boy, I can already feel the glimmer in my palm!"

Back on the plaza, the first rays of morning sun were brightening the eastern horizon.

"That makes two Hunters who are certain I'll be joining them," she said to Ghost.

 **Hmph. Take Cayde's words with a grain of salt. Ikora isn't one to engage in bets, especially with him!**

"I'm sure she chose the Warlocks," she grinned at Ghost.

 **Likely. She does have a good eye for these things.** Despite his insistence against the bet being real, he sounded a twinge hopeful. Perhaps Ghost had already made up his mind where she should petition.

"Do you think Zinnia is awake yet?"

 **Just a moment.** Ghost clicked and chirped, fins spinning thoughtfully. **Perdita says she's due to wake up to begin her Archival shift. Or rather, overdue.**

She wasn't sure who to feel sorry for, Zinnia being woken up early or Perdita who had to wake her.

"Have Perdita tell her I've got some good news. And that I'm not going to save her any cinnamon rolls, so she'd better get up quick!"


	13. The Light's Truth

Chelise stepped off the train onto the platform at Tower Crossing. The station's namesake loomed ahead of her, nestled in the northern foothills. The broad service road stretched straight from the station platform to the Tower's base in the foothills, a pedestrian pathway diverging from it to climb a low hill to the gondola station. Like many of the train's passengers, she had to stop and take it in before moving on down the wide avenue. The Tower was simply too breathtaking of a sight to ignore and she rarely saw it so close. Chelise adjusted her pack on her shoulders and gazed up with a heavy heart. The Tower was breathtaking, but it was also not serving the City like it should.

Many of the people walking with her were Tower employees, bearing lanyards and wrist IDs that proclaimed their right to access the monument. Chelise eyed those jealously. Her task would be so much simpler if she could get inside. What did these workers know that she didn't? What did they feel when they looked at the Tower?

That was what she had come to find out. If she couldn't get inside the Tower herself, she would get to know the people who could. Her first few attempts at interviews on the train were largely unsuccessful. The passengers were either unwilling to talk or soon clammed up when they caught where her line of questioning was headed. Nobody was willing to speak ill of the Tower. Perhaps she would have more luck outside, where people didn't have to worry so much about being overheard.

Chelise snugged up the collar of her wool jacket against the breeze whipping up along the foothills. She had to watch her step around patches of snow on the pavement. Clouds had settled over the City once more, the long winter showing no sign of being through. Behind her, the Traveler glinted with a rime of delicate ice.

She untangled her doctored College ID from her pack straps. It bore her picture with her pseudonym Sophie. It wasn't the best counterfeit, unable to fool actual scanners, but it would do well enough at a quick glance for those unfamiliar with current College identification. Her affiliation with the College might make people like Yuriy more apt to talk with her, rather than one of the City news organizations, but she still wasn't willing to go so far as to use her real name. Not just yet.

Not that she was afraid to get into a little trouble for her work. In fact, attracting the attention of Tower security and being brought in for questioning might actually prove useful — so long as they let her out again. Truthfully, she didn't know what would happen were she to be apprehended. The Tower couldn't keep her there, could they? Her investigations wouldn't do much good if she couldn't share what she learned.

It was simply best not to get caught. She'd have to find a better way inside than that.

Chelise bounded up onto the sidewalk with the flow of people. Many were on their way to work at one of the warehouses for the Foundry district and not going to the Tower, but quite a few were heading up the hillside stairs to the gondola that would take them to the mid-level entrance for visitors.

It was on those stairs that she made her first move. A middle-aged woman, her attention on a datapad and clutching a Tower branded travel mug, paused against the stairway railing to read. Chelise could see her Tower credentials against her yellow winter coat. Heavy earmuffs hung around her collar. If she had to guess, the woman was a Hangar worker.

"Hello!" Chelise called brightly as she jogged up to her side. The woman glanced up in surprise, clearly not expecting to be meeting anyone.

"My name is Sophie," Chelise launched into her rehearsed spiel and flashed the fake ID. "I'm in my last semester at the College and I am designing my thesis around a workforce task management application. Do you have a few moments to answer some questions for me? It would be super helpful for my research."

Her "thesis" application could be changed to suit the interview subject. Task management and delegation in the case of this Hangar worker, shipping and receipts for dock workers, ordering and restocking for kitchens, and so on.

Chelise could tell by the look on her face that the woman wasn't too keen on being chosen for an interview. She flashed her brightest smile and re-adjusted her bookbag. Her entire look was designed to be innocuous — just a bright, naive college student who really, really needed to pass her courses.

"Well, I guess I have a few minutes," the woman said.

"Great! This will be really quick, I promise!" Chelise opened her datapad to take notes. Hopefully this time she would have something to record.

"First off, what do you do for work?"

"I'm a launch coordinator for the Tower," the woman said, glancing up. From the stairs where they stood, the large arc of the Tower's column hid the Hangar bays many stories above their heads.

Chelise put on her most surprised look.

"Oh, wow! You work for the Tower? That's amazing!"

She figured people would be more amenable if she complimented them and didn't look like she already had them figured out. The woman gave an uncomfortable smile. Maybe she had overdone it a little. She could remember how much Kemal had blushed and muttered after his job announcement.

"What's it like to work for the Tower?" she asked, leaning in with an excited grin. "I bet it's incredible!"

"Yeah, it's pretty neat. I guess I can't complain."

Chelise wished the woman had more to say than that. Unfortunately, like Kemal, she was not going to brag.

"What kinds of things do you do as a launch coordinator?" Chelise asked. She had to strike a balance between the ignorant facade and her real questions about worker satisfaction with the Tower.

The woman leaned against the railing, considering Chelise's question.

"Well, a lot of stuff," she shrugged. "My biggest responsibility is traffic control for departures and arrivals. I work in the Main Bay where it's mostly short-schedule jumpship launch. But sometimes I head up Bay Two, which does a lot of air cargo and general Tower flights. Those ones are usually on a pretty fixed schedule or set up in advance, so it's a little less hectic. And sometimes I work the maintenance floor, checking up on ships that need repairs."

"So you're the one Guardians turn to if they need to launch a jumpship?" Chelise asked, with a suitably impressed expression to match her question.

The woman smiled and shook her head. "No. I'm not the one who gives initial authorization. I just make sure the launches are moving along. Anyone needing to leave via ship has to get authorization for launch first. Then I help coordinate it in scheduling."

"Can't anyone just leave whenever they want?" Chelise asked.

"Sort of," the woman shrugged again. "But it has to be on record. And then they'd better queue up or risk getting run over by an incoming Kestrel."

Chelise laughed, hoping to put the woman at ease. She just smiled and glanced curiously at Chelise's ID.

"That's interesting!" Chelise said. "Maybe I should look to some kind of scheduling software with instant communications. Is that authorization normally relayed to you via comms, or…?" she asked hopefully.

"It's usually through intranet," the woman answered. "If the Vanguard issues a fireteam launch, they relay the order to the Frames on duty in the Hall, who then send it to my office in the Hangar. It's basically just a little note detailing the requested time and the number of ships. Then I have to figure out a way to accommodate that launch as close to the order as possible."

"That sounds tough. Do you ever have to delay a launch?"

"Not often," the woman sounded proud. "Usually only for stuff outside our control — bad weather or a disabled ship that we can't get off the runway quickly. That's pretty rare, though. Most jumpships can take a beating and fly through a huge range of atmospheric conditions. Most Guardians don't mind flying those conditions either," she added with a wry grin. _Guardians_ , her smile seemed to say. _Go figure._

"You wouldn't get in trouble if a launch was delayed, would you?" Chelise asked. Her worried expression made the woman wave her hand dismissively.

"Nah. There might be a few hot tempers, but nothing we can't sort out. Like I said, it's pretty rare to delay a launch. Everyone knows the procedure anyways. Authorization is just a simple routine to go through in order to ensure smooth operations instead of a snarl of traffic."

Chelise was impressed. A few hot tempers had to be referring to Guardians sometimes. She didn't think she could remain nonchalant if a Guardian was fuming with impatience to fly.

"Okay, this is good stuff," Chelise said. "I could definitely look into ways to support up-to-the-second scheduling." She paused, as if considering what else she needed to know. The woman glanced back at the Tower again, ready to move on. She had better get to her real point soon.

"So what kinds of things make your job hard?" Chelise asked. "This is usually the most valuable information, because then I can look for ways to improve productivity."

The woman took a sip from her mug and thought the question over.

"Hard? I don't know. I guess…well, sometimes the network goes down and we have to run on sluggish backup systems. That definitely makes things more difficult. A few summers ago we had a string of outages in the power grid that knocked out even the backups. We had to do everything on pen and paper. That was a hoot." She shook her head, reminiscing. "First we had to find pen and paper. It took reams for a day's worth of flight operations. The Cryptarchy obliged, thank goodness. So did a few Ghosts who could act as a network of their own."

As interesting as this all was, it wasn't exactly the paydirt Chelise was looking for.

"Is there anything that you would want to change about your job?" she asked.

"The weather," the woman laughed, kicking at a patch of ice. "I've got a little office that oversees the Bay door, and the heating inside is never enough. Especially since half the time I've got to stick my head out the window and holler at someone."

Amusing, but still not good enough.

"I can't say there's anything else, really," the woman said, beginning to fidget with her datapad. She really wanted to be on her way. "It's a job with ups and downs, just like any other."

 _Right_ , Chelise thought. _Just another job…in the most closely-guarded establishment in the City, housing the Light Blessed!_

She decided to alter tack.

"Do you have any way to speak up about your concerns?"

"I can talk to my superior," the woman said, sounding a little puzzled. "Requests go up the chain, and all that."

"What kind of requests?"

"Just stuff like figuring out overtime or getting equipment."

"And are requests often resolved to your satisfaction?"

"Yeah, usually. Boss does what she can."

"Do you ever feel like your position is ignored? Like priorities go elsewhere?"

"Ignored? No…I don't think so. What do you mean?" The woman frowned at Chelise.

"Do you feel like Tower operations are very upfront with you if they have to deny a request? Or about why resources are allocated the way they are?"

The woman was still frowning. This interview was perilously close to being over.

"Well, 'Tower operations' is actually a lot of different departments. You've got security, maintenance, supply, intranet, accounting, kitchens…lots of departments, all the way up to the Vanguard. My department is Flight Operations, so that's who I'd be dealing with. They're pretty flexible. If you've got a reasonable request, they'll do what they can to accommodate it."

"And if they can't?" Chelise pressed. "Do they tell you why?"

"Sure. Usually it's pretty obvious, though. I mean, I know when I'm asking for something that's a long shot."

"Do you ever work directly with the Vanguard?" Chelise asked. It was a gamble, but so far the woman had been surprisingly accommodating.

"I get launch requests from them."

"That's all?"

"Pretty much. My department doesn't really need to work directly with them."

"Could you just go up to them and talk?"

The woman blinked in surprise. "I suppose. I…I've never really tried. I guess I'd have to make a request first. They're very busy."

"But you have more access than, say, the average civilian."

"Well, sure." the woman said. "I'm already in the Tower."

"What about those fireteam launch requests from the Vanguard?" Chelise asked. "Do you know what the Guardians are doing? Where they're going?"

The woman shook her head. "It's not my concern, really. I just launch 'em. I don't really need to know."

"Aren't you curious?"

Again, the woman was taken aback. "I don't really think about it. It's just Guardian business."

"Is it a secret?"

"Well…I'm sorry, what was it you said you were researching?"

That was her cue to be done. Chelise thanked the woman and let her be on her way.

The morning slipped into afternoon. Chelise hung about the gondola steps or walked down to the train platform, making long circuits in an attempt to find more Tower personnel who might be willing to talk to her. She always got stymied as soon as she started probing about the Vanguard, no matter how much she tried to couch her questions as innocent curiosity. As the day wore on, she grew more frustrated. Wasn't there anyone who had some kind of complaint against the Tower?

Every response was the same. The workers liked their jobs — which was always "just a job" — they had to put up with some headaches, and they didn't necessarily interact with the Vanguard. They all inevitably concluded that the Tower was a nice place to work and that they had no complaints. They had free housing, free food, fair pay to send to their families, and even an education program through the Cryptarchy. It was everything Kemal had touted to her back when he was interviewing for his position in Frame maintenance. Every time she tried to probe into whether they thought they should know what the Vanguard were up to, she was met with confusion and resistance. They only cared about supporting the Vanguard's operations and not what those operations were. Guardian business, she kept hearing. They have their reasons. They do what's best.

Shortly after noon, Chelise sat on the steps to the gondola station. She tapped through her datapad, regrettably bare of any real information, and considered heading back to the College. Maybe she was just wasting her time on a dead end.

She didn't see the Tower Security officers coming for her until it was too late.

"Ma'am?" a woman's voice called, and she turned to see the official uniforms. Her heart sank. Somebody must have taken issue at last. From what she understood, Tower Security mostly worked the base since their services obviously weren't needed near the top where Guardians roamed freely. They were still not to be trifled with. City forces recognized them as a legitimate entity, and surely they reported straight to the Vanguard. Her heart began to pound.

They did not take her to the Tower. The small detachment was just a team of two, a tired looking man and woman who looked more annoyed than suspicious. But they did not let her go right away, especially when her fake ID did not return a match on City intranet. Chelise tried to lie and say they were probably having trouble because of her College ID number being duplicated on a second badge, and procured her real identification. Still the guards frowned, curious now about why she would have two badges. Then the questioning began in earnest.

What classes did she take? Who were her teachers? What year was she? What was she studying? Where did she live? They didn't even look very satisfied with her story about her double name — she insisted she went by Sophie because she just hated Chelise — and then of course they wanted to know why she had been asking such pointed questions about the Tower.

"There have been complaints," the security woman said sternly.

"You've been bothering a lot of people," the man added.

"It's for a school project," Chelise tried to assure them. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

Which launched a whole new round of questioning.

What was the project? Who was in charge of it? Was it sanctioned by her teachers? Why did she need to ask about Tower operations?

She began to sweat, despite the cold air. Nothing seemed to satisfy the guards. They were looking at her with more and more suspicion. She was an absolute Darkness-blinded idiot. Identifying herself with the College didn't protect her at all. The Light save her, they were going to think that she was that Trinary plant on campus, weren't they?

Her mind was racing through what-ifs and frightening scenarios of being named Trinary when someone called her name. Chelise and the guards looked over to see an Exo trotting down the stairs. She was dressed in simple white clothing that would have been too light for any human in the wintry weather. A large pearl hung against her chest in a clasp of gold. Chelise sighed in relief. It was Lei-5, a Flame of the Light's Truth, in charge of the Lantern that she and Kemal had attended before going to the College.

"Hello, Chelise!" Lei said as she came to stand beside her on the steps. "What brings you here?" Her pink eyes took in the guards. Her brow plates twitched in concern. "Is everything all right?"

"Do you know this girl?" the woman asked.

"Yes," Lei-5 answered. She was unprepared for their severe expressions.

"Can you vouch that she is a student at the College?" the man asked.

"Of course!" Lei cried. "Chelise, what's happening? Are you in trouble?"

"Your name?" the man asked.

Lei announced her title, full of calm dignity. Again she demanded to know why Chelise was being held up.

"She's been speaking to Tower residents," the woman said. "Asking very sensitive questions. She says she's working on a school project."

"I am!" Chelise insisted, turning her pleading look to Lei.

"Oh, I'm sure she didn't mean any harm!" Lei said, her hands on her hips. "I know Chelise well. She wouldn't cause any trouble!"

Her bright eyes looked searchingly at Chelise, wide with amazement. Chelise did her best to look innocent.

"I didn't think I was being so bothersome," she mumbled, casting her eyes to the ground. If she could just play dumb…

"You'd best take this project elsewhere," the man sighed. "This isn't the place to be asking such questions. People might get the wrong idea, call you Trinary."

Chelise looked wide-eyed at him, hoping she seemed appropriately aghast. Well, the risk of being lumped in with the Trinary did fill her with real dread. Beside her, Lei reflexively touched her Truth pearl and muttered an invocation to the Light.

"I'm so sorry!" Chelise gasped. "I didn't think of it that way!"

"Just head on home, okay?" the woman said. She looked at Lei-5. "Can you make sure she gets on her way?"

"Of course," Lei said.

The guards walked back up the stairs toward the gondola station. Chelise let out a breath. Lei turned to her, an astonished look on her faceplates.

"What was that all about? I've never known you to get tangled up with security!"

"It really was just a school project," Chelise sighed. "I was only asking a few questions about Tower life."

"I see," Lei said. She had a strange tone to her voice, as if Chelise had suddenly confirmed a suspicion. "Walk with me."

They began to descend the long flight of stairs. Despite escaping security, Chelise had the feeling she was not off the hook just yet.

"I just returned from weekly service at the Tower," Lei said. "I saw Kemal."

"Oh?" Chelise asked, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Yes. He's doing well. I'm glad he still has time to attend the Flame. Do you get to speak with him often?"

"We spoke a little while ago."

The breeze was picking up now, tugging at Lei's loose garments. She was not bothered in the least by the weather. Chelise hunkered her chin in her coat collar and wished for thicker gloves.

"This school project…would it have anything to do with the recent mine attacks?" Lei asked.

Chelise grit her teeth. Kemal! He had squealed on her! What could she say? A Flame like Lei-5 was never going to understand where she was coming from. Lei took her silence as an affirmation.

"My dear," she sighed. "I must confess he's a little worried about you. He was afraid you were going to get in trouble, and now I find you being questioned by Tower Security. Tell me your troubles, Chelise. Maybe I can help."

Chelise eyed her doubtfully. Kemal had already all but called her questions blasphemy. What would a Flame say?

"I just want to know how something like the mine disaster could have happened," Chelise said quietly.

Lei's look was sympathetic. She stopped and put a hand on Chelise's shoulder. It was warm despite her metal skin and the cold air.

"You always were such a sensitive, thoughtful soul," Lei said. "It doesn't surprise me that this news upset you more than most. These things happen, Chelise. They are the work of the Darkness in our world."

"But where were the Guardians?" Chelise challenged. "Why weren't they at the mines? Reports are saying there were serious Fallen sightings all along!"

"The Guardians do what they can," Lei said patiently. "The Light watches over all. It was up to us to keep the mines safe when the Guardians could not."

"But why couldn't the Guardians protect it? Why weren't any there? Did the Vanguard even know? Did they even care?" Chelise hadn't meant to be so forward with Lei, but a morning of frustration was taking its toll.

"Of course they care, Chelise," Lei soothed. "It is their work to protect us and bring us the Light."

"Then why didn't they protect the miners?" Chelise protested. "They're hurting and afraid, and the Tower has no comment! I can't even get any information from people who live there!"

"What would you have them say?" Lei asked, her voice still infuriatingly calm. "The Guardians cannot be everywhere at once. It's not possible, my dear."

"They could at least explain why they left one of their most valuable assets vulnerable!" Chelise said. "And they could explain why they're too afraid to answer a few questions!"

"I am sure they did everything in their power. What happened was a dreadful accident. Our world is dangerous, even though the Light Blessed keep watch."

"How do you know they did everything they could?" She couldn't stop herself. Wouldn't anyonegive her more than the same old tired answers?

"Because they are of the Light," Lei said firmly. "The Light watches over us through the Guardians. They go where they are needed. Sometimes, there are things more important that call their attention."

Chelise looked away toward the Foundry district, unwilling to meet the Flame's steady gaze. That was just what Kemal had said.

"That is not to say that the miners were not important," Lei continued. "I grieve for the lives lost and the families broken. Many had relatives in the Tower whom I have just attended to. But the Light has not blessed us with Guardians to bring us a world free of danger. It has given them to us so we may have a chance against those who seek to do us harm, and to remind us of the Light's power and goodness. The Traveler, may She rise again, carries out the Will of the Light and sends us help at a time when She can no longer directly act. Just as we love Her and protect Her, we were not always able to keep her from harm. The Guardians love us and want to protect us too, but sometimes the Darkness is strong. Sometimes they can't protect us. We do our best."

Chelise continued to look away. The Tower looming behind her felt like an accusation.

"Your mother tells me you have been working hard at your studies," Lei said gently. "Your realstudies. She says she has hardly spoken to you. You must be very tired. I want you to make time for rest. You must take care of yourself."

Chelise suppressed a sigh. Now her mother was tattling too?

Chelise began to walk toward the train platform. Lei continued to walk with her, lapsing into silence that needled Chelise as much as her advice had. Eventually Chelise spoke up, changing the subject to Kemal. Mercifully, Lei went along with it.

Kemal was well, she reported, and keeping busy. He'd told her about working with a Reborn Guardian and that he was happy to be doing his part for the Tower. That he was missing his studies too. Chelise felt a pang of regret. She had been one of those who had urged him toward the Tower, knowing he would have to give up his studies at the College. But who could pass up a chance at the Tower itself? She wished again that their meeting at The Acorn had ended better. He still hadn't answered her message. Blessed Light, was he that angry with her?

At the platform, Lei embraced her in a heartfelt hug.

"I am glad you ask questions," the Flame said. "Please don't think they are not encouraged. This doubt is part of your faith, Chelise. The path is illumined, and yet sometimes you must walk blind for a time. Hold to the Light's Truth and it will guide you through the Darkness."

She put a hand to Chelise's cheek."Call on me anytime. I mean it."

Lei left her at the platform, heading toward the side streets. Her ministry duties would take her to several of the neighboring warehouses before she would be on her way back to her home sector. Chelise watched her go, suddenly hollow and tired. What she wouldn't give for that quiet assurance that Kemal and Lei both carried. The pearl around her neck only felt cold and heavy, like an empty promise.

She needed answers.

She needed to talk to Kemal.


	14. Great Dane

"Where else do you want to go?" Zinnia asked. "Somewhere inside, I hope! This weather is ridiculous!" Quarrel and the Warlock were walking along the Tower plaza. Cold winds whipped the Tower banners and flags and sent thick clouds scuttling around the Traveler. The huge orb was just visible in a cloak of grey mist off the balcony. All kiosks except for the diligent Postmaster's were shuttered against the dreary afternoon. The Cryptarchy's abandoned workstation wouldn't reopen until the season definitively entered spring.

The whole day was grey. Grey light, grey clouds, grey drizzle that threatened to become snow. Dead leaves scraped across the smooth stones in front of their feet.

Zinnia fought with strands of her curly hair escaping her bun and plastering against her face. Her long vestments billowed around her ankles with each gust. The Tower as a whole shared her frustration with the weather. Guardians and personnel scuttled from alcove to alcove, heads down, burrowed into armor or coats and scarves.

Quarrel looked around her. They had already investigated the North Tower, passing the Archives and the empty Speaker's Study — cold and silent, the great bronze machinery hanging eerily still and the enormous banners rippling like living things against the walls — and they had made their way through much of the Central Tower, filled with meeting halls and visitor housing and crowned by the grand lecture hall that Zinnia said the Cryptarchs liked to use for their presentations. Inside the Tower's massive column, they'd strolled by the gun range, the Vanguard armory, Warlock meditation rooms, storage floors and Frame workshops. They had worked their way from the bottom of the Tower and its personnel quarters to the top, where Guardians took their rest, until they had finally reached the pinnacle at the promenade. There had also been a quick stop into the cafeteria, of course. Zinnia appeared to have a great friend in the head cook, who plied them with hot drinks and sweets in the toasty, oven-heated kitchens.

"How about the Hangar?" Quarrel suggested. "I can check on my ship." It was likely there was nothing new to report since her last inquiry the day before, but it was something to do. She needed something to keep her occupied. Talking with the Speaker had soothed her churning emotions of the past few days, but she still felt restless, like there was something she was supposed to be doing. Joining the fight, Quarrel thought as she looked toward the Hangar. That's what it is. What I've been avoiding.

"Sure!" Zinnia liked the idea well enough. She was fascinated by the fact that Quarrel had a ship of her own. They struggled against the wind to the narrow passage that would take them into the Hangar. Quarrel lowered her chin into her scarf, tucked securely into coat collar to keep from blowing away. That last gust of wind had definitely had a chill spray of ice on its breath.

The passageway was empty save for a few shipments that had not yet been processed by the Hangar crew. The wind shrieked around the slim doorway, sounding angry that it could no longer reach them.

"I hate the cold!" Zinnia exclaimed, shaking out her vestments and fussing with her hair. "I wish it would be summer already!"

Quarrel nodded. A little warm weather would be much appreciated right about now. This cold, wintry day reminded her of waking in the Cosmodrome, and that made her even more uneasy. She followed Zinnia down the plain concrete passage to where it emptied into the primary Hangar bay.

"I'm saving up for a ship of my own!" Zinnia called to her over the constant noise of engines and machinery. "You're so lucky to have found one!" She supposed she was. Though Guardians appeared to be well taken care of in the Tower, with food and a place to stay costing them nothing, there wasn't much beyond those basics that she could count on receiving for free. The equipment they had perused on the armory walls that afternoon was expensive, and surely wasn't easily crafted. She was beginning to see that it was an enormous undertaking to outfit the Tower.

They made their way across the walkway and down to the Sparrow staging floor. Zinnia goggled at the goings-on as much as she did. When Quarrel glanced over the railing to a lower deck at the close Hangar wall, she caught sight of a small group of civilians standing in dim light, their heads together in conversation. Many of them wore the ever-present City scarves wrapped over their heads and faces. Their whole manner was furtive, trying to be unnoticed by those around them.

Zinnia tugged at her arm and brought her lips close to her ear.

"Those are members of Dead Orbit," she said, her expression disdainful. "See that Awoken man? That's Jalaal, the Arach in the Tower."

She could see the man Zinnia pointed out. Straight black hair hid most of his face from view. He gestured fiercely to the people gathered around him. Quarrel watched a moment longer and the Arach glanced up, catching sight of her. His eyes glowed like Zinnia's, a very pale blue instead of her electric green. Those eyes were curious about her. Zinnia tugged on her arm again.

"Let's go. You don't want to talk to them. The Arach will just bother you, begging for glimmer and spare parts."

She let the little Warlock lead her away from the railing toward the shipwright's workbench. They were in luck; Holliday was off the workfloor. At her last visit, Quarrel had only been able to track down a crewman to talk to.

"Afternoon, Guardians," the shipwright said, looking up from a stack of invoices. "You're here about your ship, I expect? Well, I'm happy to report she's ready for you. I just haven't had a second to sign off on it." Amanda's look was apologetic, though her tone was firm. This was a woman who was used to delivering such news to Guardians and didn't worry about whether they found it displeasing. "There's been a whole mess of issues to address, but she'll do right by you now. Those old Arcadias were built to last."

"Thank you," Quarrel said, enormously pleased that there would be no more delays.

"It ain't no trouble," Amanda brushed the thanks aside and turned to Zinnia. "How about you, Warlock? I'm buildin' up a Misfit that would be just perfect for you. Got a downpayment ready yet?"

"No," Zinnia sighed, her look dejected. "I had to buy a new bracer last month."

"You'll get there, Guardian." Amanda smiled sympathetically. "It'll be worth the wait. In the meantime, maybe your friend can shuttle you around. That Arcadia's got a jumpseat — if you don't mind a tight squeeze."

Zinnia's eyes lit up at the suggestion.

"You've got launch authorization queued up," Amanda said to Quarrel. "Looks like an open-ended request from Cayde. You headin' out tonight?"

Quarrel hesitated. The idea was sorely tempting.

"Tomorrow," she said. "As early as possible." Tonight was for preparation…and maybe a little about gathering her courage.

"We'll be here," Amanda said. "Have your Ghost send a launch time, then make sure you're here on the dot. Mornings are busy, so you don't want to lose your place in line!" She gathered up the invoices on the table. "Now, beggin' your pardon, Guardians, I've got to check on some deliveries."

They stepped aside to let the shipwright pass. Quarrel wondered if Amanda ever even so much as sat down during the day.

"It's ready!" Zinnia exclaimed. "How exciting!"

"From the way the crewman talked yesterday, I thought I'd be waiting another week," Quarrel said.

"Holliday is always overestimating her work times. Boone says it keeps Guardians happy because they think she's always prioritizing them." Zinnia looked appreciative of that small trick.

Quarrel glanced around the Hangar, taking in the bustle and commotion.

"Where to now?" Zinnia asked.

There didn't seem to be much that they would be encouraged to explore here. Quarrel watched an overhead crane transport a glistening wing from one end of the workfloor to the other. It was then she realized there was a skybox presiding over the entryway.

"The Future War Cult meets up there," Zinnia explained, following her gaze. "They're really secretive. I keep trying to find out what exactly they're about, but they're so strict about membership! There's always someone on guard at the top of the stairs." She gestured to a tall metal staircase leading up to the skybox, just beyond where they stood.

"They don't let Guardians in?" Quarrel asked.

"Oh, they love Guardians!" Zinnia said. "It's just that nobody knows how Lakshmi — she's the leader — chooses her candidates. Master Rahool says that meeting with Lakshmi is by invite only."

"Doesn't the Vanguard know what they do?"

"Maybe. But who knows if the Cult are even telling them the truth?"

"What's down there?" Quarrel asked, pointing at a staircase below the skybox that descended into shadow.

"Not much. Just the Hunter Lounge."

A Hunter Lounge? That sounded like it could be interesting.

"Can we see it?"

Zinnia hesitated a moment, then shrugged.

"It's nothing special. Just a junky old ship turned into a junky old hangout."

Quarrel began to descend the stairs, heading into the lower depths of the Hangar. Zinnia followed, looking a little uncertain.

"Will the Hunters allow us in?" Quarrel asked.

"It's a free Tower!" Zinnia said, not sounding terribly convincing. "They can't keep us out. Besides, it doesn't really belong to the Hunters. They just started congregating here and the name stuck. Tory's had parties here loads of times anyways, so they know me." Quarrel wasn't certain if Zinnia was trying to reassure her or justify their presence to herself. Either way, the Warlock followed.

The stairwell split around a Frame maintenance kiosk, tucked underneath the platform they had just come from. From there, Quarrel could see the open bay of an old cargo transport, its loading ramp down and secured to the floor. Ratty netting lined either side of the ramp. Inside the bay she could make out couches and tables in dim light. Three banners hung from the ceiling, a dusty red that once had been bright crimson, each clearly sporting the three-tiered symbol of the Hunter Order in deep black.

Quarrel stepped onto the ramp and entered the little lounge. In the back of the bay she could see a counter littered with bottles and papers, sharing space with an intranet terminal covered with fingerprints. Above the counter hung an assortment of trophies: a massive shield, a long skull from no creature she recognized, broken, retired weapons. On her left, a huge, wrinkled map hung on the wall. Long knives stuck out of it at various points. Couches were drawn together by this map, around a table with dogeared copies of magazines, City newsprints, and what looked to be pieces of a Sparrow manual. One of the engine access pods acted as a sort of brazier on the right side of the bay, casting an orange glow and considerable warmth. Two extremely worn couches had been pulled up around it. Three Hunters sat on them. All three wore full armor, their cloaks carefully positioned so they were not sat upon.

The first to catch her eye was a slight Awoken woman sitting crosslegged directly opposite to the bay door. She had dark, straight, shoulder-length hair held by a thin braided circlet around her forehead. Her violet eyes flicked between Quarrel and Zinnia, ringed by thick eyelashes. Her expression was not upset at the intrusion, but neither was it friendly. The other two Hunters, in the middle of conversation, turned to see what their companion was looking at.

One of the two was an Exo. His frame was matte black, his eyes glowing white. Two thin, black nodes stuck up at an angle from just below his temples, giving him an elfin look. His eyebrow plate twitched upward at the sight of Zinnia.

"Can we help you, Warlock?" The third Hunter asked. He was human, his hair close cropped and a short auburn beard along his jawline. Even though he was sitting, she could tell he was very tall and lanky. His expression and tone left no room for doubt — they were not welcome here.

"I'm just showing our new Guardian around," Zinnia answered frostily. She had her chin up, as though daring the Hunters to find some fault with that.

The man's displeased expression curled into a sneer.

"Fresh meat, is it?" he said to Quarrel. "I've heard about you. You're the one scrounged up from the Cosmodrome."

"My Ghost found me there," she answered, matching his stare.

His sneer grew a little bigger. Then he unfurled himself from the sofa in that languid way peculiar to Hunters. He was definitely a tall man, standing a couple inches even over her considerable height.

"Great Dane," he said, holding out a gauntleted hand. She hesitated. So this was the Great Dane of Crucible fame that Boone and Tory were talking about. Deciding not to be rude — yet — she shook it.

"This here is my crew," Dane said. "Guinefort-13," he gestured over his shoulder to the Exo, "and Gelert." The Awoken woman continued to stare stonily. Great Dane looked to Zinnia, his sneer deepening.

"You playing hooky from lessons? Or have you joined the Tower Pages as well as the Cryptarchy?" That earned a chuckle from Guinefort.

"I'm doing what I can to help a new Guardian," Zinnia replied. She had to crane her neck to look Dane in the eye. Her fingers were beginning to bunch in her vestment sleeves. "Some of us like to keep busy."

Dane snorted. The jab was apparently inconsequential to him.

"We're on our way to the Crucible," he said. "A little skirmishing in the European Dead Zones. You been to the Crucible yet, fresh meat?"

"No," Quarrel replied.

"She's seen battle," Zinnia said at practically the same time.

"Is that so?" Dane asked. He kept staring into Quarrel's eyes. He was waiting, she realized. Waiting to see what she would do.

"She fought off a whole detachment of Fallen all by herself," Zinnia went on, "and she won a ship. All right after her Rebirth!" The Warlock did not even try to hide her smug grin. She sounded as proud as Ghost.

"Impressive," Dane said, though he sounded anything but impressed. "Then I think it's high time you tested your skills against fellow Guardians. What do you say, Gelert? Guinefort? Think we should take this one under wing?"

"If she can keep up," Gelert said quietly. Her entire tone was doubtful about that prospect.

"Only if she's willing to learn from the best." Guinefort added casually. "I'm not so sure that's the case." His white eyes lingered on Zinnia. The Warlock's jaw tightened.

"Come on, Guinny," Dane crooned. "I'm sure Zinnia makes an excellent tour guide. Few have spent such time in the Tower like she has. I bet she knows all the best places to escape for an afternoon or ten!"

A red flush bloomed on Zinnia's cheeks.

"I might be interested in the Crucible," Quarrel stepped in, before she could stop herself. Was she mad? She wasn't even certain what the Crucible was! Some kind of Guardian competition? "Wemight be interested," she gestured to Zinnia, who checked with surprise.

"Ah," Dane said, his eyebrows climbing in amusement. "You'll quickly find that some people are…beyond training. Even with a gun in their face. But I'm willing to take you on as a pupil."

"I think I still need to vet my teacher," Quarrel said. "Make sure you have the skills I'm looking for." The corners of Zinnia's mouth twitched in a smile. Dane's grin slipped ever so slightly.

"That's wise," he said. "I can have a feed set up to our match this evening. You might learn a thing or two if you watch."

"I might."

He nodded. "I'll do that. Take notes. Zinnia can show you how." He beckoned to Gelert and Guinefort, who rose from the couches. For a moment, Quarrel thought the tension was actually going to turn to blows. But the three Hunters merely walked past them and down the ramp, Great Dane passing so close to Zinnia that the little Warlock had to step aside or be trampled on.

"See you around, fresh meat," he said. "Think about my offer."

Zinnia scowled at their backs, her fingers twisting in her sleeves so much the fabric was pulled taut.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "Of all the people to run into down here! I'd rather have talked to Jalaal!"

"What's his problem?" Quarrel asked.

"A big head, that's what!" Zinnia scowled. "Dane thinks he's the Traveler's gift to Guardians just because he's top in the Crucible right now."

"Is he really good?" she asked.

Zinnia's lips twisted, struggling to find what to say.

"He's okay," she mumbled. "Shaxx likes him, for some reason. And Shaxx doesn't openly admit he likes just anyone." She sounded wounded by that.

Quarrel felt a stab of pity for the Warlock. Clearly, she was not popular with those Hunters. Zinnia was trying to shrug off the encounter, but her expression was decidedly subdued now. They certainly had not been kind in their assessment of her. Apparently her affiliation with the Cryptarchy was a matter of some hilarity.

"Don't pay them any attention," Zinnia said, turning to Quarrel and quickly fixing a confident grin on her face — for all the world as though she were the one who had needed reassurance. However much Dane may have needled her, Zinnia had a startling capacity to put her frustration out of mind at a moment's notice. "Those three are all talk, just like Boone says. He can give them a run for their glimmer any day, without even tripping a circuit!"

"Can I really watch their match?" Quarrel asked as Zinnia led her out of the Lounge. Apparently the Warlock did not want to hang about.

"Sure," Zinnia said. "One of their Ghosts just has to authorize the interlink to yours. But why would you want to?"

"I'm just curious," Quarrel replied.

"Wait." Zinnia stopped on the stairs leading up from the Lounge and turned to her with an incredulous look. "You're not seriously going to take Dane's offer, are you? He's just going to put you on the opposite team, shoot you a bunch, and call it training!"

"How do you know?" she asked.

Zinnia flushed again.

"It's his favorite thing to do! Tons of Guardians have fallen for it!" She renewed her climb up the stairs with extra vigor. "It's a good thing I'm here to keep you away from stuff like that!"

Quarrel bit her lip. She had the feeling the Warlock had been one of those who had fallen for it.

Outside the Hangar, Zinnia listened to the tolling bells and sighed. "It's almost time for me to go back to the Archives. You want to stop by the cafeteria again? I'm going to bring a snack!"


	15. Our Hope

"Hey, Kemal! You should come hang out with us tonight!"

Kemal looked down the row of lockers at his roommate Etienne, packing up his shift belongings.

"What are you planning? Kemal asked.

Etienne grinned. He knew that look by now. It was the one Etienne gave when he had some gleeful secret to share. Usually that secret was a scrap of armor or shred of a Titan Mark that he'd come by. Sometimes it was a flask of Tower Bastion whisky hidden in his pocket.

Etienne glanced around the break room. Only a couple of their mutual friends remained from the shift change, the other Frame shop workers already out the door for the night. He lowered his voice nonetheless.

"There's a Crucible match tonight. I've got the hookup to a skirmish with Great Dane."

"How did you get that?" Kemal asked.

"Dane's Ghost sends a feed out to a few datapads and terminals each match. It's supposed to start in half an hour. You wanna watch? Kev and Anthony are hosting at their place." The two friends at the lunch table looked up from their datapads. Anthony nodded at Kemal.

"Come on over, man. We'll have drinks and stuff. You might even win some glimmer."

Kemal had only ever hung around with Anthony once, but he liked the man well enough. The four were all about the same age, with Kev the oldest by a few years. Anthony and Etienne had both graduated from the College a year ago.

"But isn't that illegal?" Kemal asked. "I thought Shaxx didn't allow Crucible streams."

"You gonna tell him?" Kev asked.

"No way!"

"Then there's nothing to worry about".

"The feeds are chosen at random out of a pool of applicants before the match," Etienne explained. "That way it can't be so easily traced just to one device. I got lucky this time, so I've got the signal."

"We've done this before," Anthony assured. "If Shaxx really wanted it to stop, he'd stop it."

That did sound reasonable enough.

"Well…okay. Sure."

Etienne's mischievous smile doubled. "Cool! I'm gonna get some supplies. See you back at their place? Twentieth floor, room six."

Kemal waved to the three as they left. He finished packing up his work overalls and transferred his tools to a sling hanging on the inside of his locker door.

A Crucible match. He wasn't so sure Lord Shaxx really condoned these covert feeds, but it had to be true that he could stop them any time he wanted to…

He could just take a look. No harm in that. It wasn't like he had to place a bet or anything.

He'd always wanted to see Guardians in action. The Crucible was supposed to be the ultimate test for the Light Blessed, pitting Guardian against Guardian, the most deadly of opponents. Maybe he would see their feats of Light! He still felt shivery thinking of that Warlock floating through the air.

Kemal closed up his locker, clicked the lock, and headed for the elevators. He'd go down to the docks and pick up a case of beer from the Exchange before going to the party.

* * *

 **I really shouldn't be doing this** , Ghost grumbled. **What if we get caught? I don't even want to think about what Shaxx would do to us.**

"Relax," Quarrel said. She was lounging cross-legged on the carpet of her bare sitting room, facing the blank wall nearest the windows and surrounded by pieces of armor. Some were from the set Ghost had made for her upon Rebirth. A couple of pieces were lent by Zinnia for her to try. The helm was a new piece she had received from Vanguard stock after trading in her old helm that afternoon.

"I only need to see a little bit of the match," she continued. "Then you can cut the feed and pretend like nothing ever happened. Besides, what's Shaxx going to do to you? Aren't you Ghosts supposed to be above reproach?"

 **You'd be surprised!** Ghost sighed. **Not everyone feels that way.** His glance said that he considered her to be one of those people.

"I'll take full responsibility," she assured him. "Dane's Ghost feeds the match for his viewers. You're just tapping in to see what's going on."

 **I can't believe Mack agrees to this nonsense!** Ghost huffed. **He should know better!**

"Come on, Ghost," she wheedled. "What do you say?"

 **I say the match started five minutes ago. Knowing Dane, it's probably over already.**

She raised an eyebrow.

 **All right** , he clicked, exasperated. **Give me a second to access the feed. The darn thing is really spotty coming all the way from the European Dead Zone…**

He chirped and buzzed to himself, little fins spinning. After a few moments, he turned to the blank wall. A projection shot from his eye, resolving into a picture on the plaster. At first, Quarrel thought the feed must have been offline or malfunctioning. Then she started to see movement outlined in a vivid greenish glow, trees and rock walls bobbing into view. Voices began to speak, tinny from Ghost's audio processors.

 _/…got 'em pinned in the cathedral?_

 _/Tegwen and Olethe. I know they're in there somewhere. Just have to flush them out._

 _/Well, hurry up, Guinny! I want to finish the match sometime this Age!_

 **That's Dane, as pleasant as ever** , Ghost buzzed. **Looks like he's rigged up his helm to feed his point of view. Clever.** That last was quite grudging.

That would explain the way the scenery was swinging about. Quarrel tried to make out what she was seeing, but it appeared to also be night wherever Dane was, and her view was limited to what registered on the visor's night vision. When Dane turned his head to the left, she could make out another Guardian in full armor, sleek and small, her long cloak flaring bright green in the dark. That must have been Gelert. Apparently Guinefort was separated from the two Hunters.

"Who are they skirmishing with?" Quarrel asked.

 **Let's see…records indicate they're up against the Titan Rowen, and the Warlocks Olethe and Tegwen-3. Should be a good fight. They're all Crucible veterans…not to mention, good, honest Guardians.**

"I take it you're not rooting for Dane to win," she laughed.

Ghost flicked his fins, letting off a grumpy click.

 **You shouldn't either. Besides his prohibited Crucible streams, Dane is a braggart and a liar.**

"Is he any good?"

 **Well…he is undefeated** , Ghost mumbled. **Which only makes him more insufferable!**

"Think of it this way," Quarrel grinned. "If he loses tonight, you'll get to see that humiliation for yourself."

 **I suppose that's some comfort.**

"So what's the rules?" she asked.

 **The Crucible is live fire exercise. In skirmish, Guardians fight in teams of three to subdue their opponents. The match ends when time runs out or when one team is eliminated.**

"Live fire?" she asked, surprised. "You mean, they actually shoot each other?"

 **Yes** , Ghost clicked. **It's a fight to the Revive.**

She shook her head, staring at the night scene on the wall. This Lord Shaxx had to be crazy. They _all_ had to be crazy.

* * *

The Titan took a knife to the throat, the long blade slashing in whirling, silver death through his thick fieldsuit, right between the plates of his helm and shoulder harness. One of his massive, bloodstained gauntlets clutched his neck. The other raised the auto rifle he carried.

Dane's helmet view swung as the Hunter dropped into a short slide. The vidscreen audio buzzed at two cracking shotgun blasts. The Titan fell. Dane sprang to his feet and the view dropped to his hand casually plucking the knife away from the Titan's throat. Blood immediately welled out of the horrific gash in his neck, a dark wave flowing over his armor.

 **Guardian down!** a Ghost announced through the helm comms.

 _/Goodnight, sweetheart!_ Dane chuckled.

Kemal had to look away. His beer bottle shivered in his numb, trembling hands. Around him, the partygoers roared and hollered. Workers from all around the Tower were gathered in Anthony and Kev's sitting room, packed onto the sofa with Kemal and on every inch of floorspace in a room only meant for two. There were winces and shudders all around at each violent display on the large vidscreen, but nobody seemed to be as upset as Kemal was by the fighting.

Blessed Light…it was so brutal!

Kemal had never seen so much blood in his life. He'd never wanted to! As the fight raged on and bullets flew, the seasick view of Dane's helm feed and the heat of so many bodies pressed together was beginning to make him feel woozy. From the very first shot connecting with a visor, the first fist decimating a chestplate, he'd realized he'd gotten in over his head. The Crucible was a raging, bloody, manic mess.

He felt like a Dark-blind fool. What had he expected? The Crucible was about Guardians testing each other in live combat. How could it not be bloody? He'd known Guardians could bleed, had heard all his life that the Light Blessed incarnated like mortals. But to actually see it…

Oh, there was so much blood! And shouting, and swearing — curses he'd have his mouth taped shut for should he ever utter them! — and a whole lot of gleeful running commentary by Great Dane.

Kemal startled when his roommate clapped him on the shoulder.

"You all right, man?" Etienne called over the noise.

"What? Uh…yeah…"

Etienne laughed.

"Hard to watch, huh? I've gotten used to it, but it's still pretty gruesome sometimes."

Kemal nodded, unable to look away. Despite the hot room, he was suddenly feeling very cold.

"Just remember that the Guardians aren't really killed," Etienne said. "Their Ghosts will bring them back no matter what. Hell, I bet the fighting doesn't even hurt! Did you see how Rowen took that knife? Dane had to shoot him twice just to get him to fall! Titans, man! They're insane!"

"Yeah," Kemal mumbled. This whole concept was insane!

The crowd roared. Kemal saw a brilliant flare of violet, a flash of a Warlock's vestments behind the glow, and Dane was jumping away. The feed tilted crazily, the screen going black.

"Nova Bomb!" Anthony yelled amidst the cheers.

"Did it take out the whole team?" Etienne shouted.

"Nah, Guinefort's still inside and I think Gelert was outside the range!" Anthony shook his head. "She better have been, or I just lost a week's pay!"

"What's a Nova Bomb?" Kemal asked.

"Void Light," Etienne grinned. "Warlock specialty. They get up real high and rain death on their enemies with a blast that leaves nothing alive. You just saw Olethe do it."

Kemal glanced at the screen. The helm feed was still completely black. The armor itself must have been obliterated.

"Either Guinefort or Gelert are going to have to come around and tag Dane's Revive, "Etienne said. "Whichever one of them might be left — oh, hey! Ghost feed is up!"

The screen came to life again. The dark night, the shadowy old-world ruins, leapt into view. Dane's Ghost was streaming now, this time apparently through its own lens. Kemal gazed in wonder at the picture on the vidscreen. The little Ghost magnified and highlighted objects at will as it searched the night, waiting for a friendly face. He wished the picture quality were better, wished to be able to see with the sharpness and clarity the Ghost must have seen things in. But the European Dead Zone was a very, very long ways away and the Ghost had much more to concentrate on than just keeping a stream live. This tiny glimpse of Ghost point-of-view was wondrous enough.

The picture swung to the right. A glowing, human shape approached, dashing to the Ghost in a fast crouch. The glow resolved into the Hunter Gelert. Through the Ghost's eye, she radiated light like a sun.

Shouts and cheers broke out all around Kemal. Those who had bet on Dane's fireteam were not out glimmer yet. Anthony, Kev, and Etienne were pleased. They had laid considerable sums on Dane's win. The screen went dark again. A few moments later, the helm feed was back up. Anthony and Kev high-fived.

 _/What took you so long?_ Dane's voice could be heard admonishing Gelert. _/I had time for a nap!_

 _/Next time don't get so far away!_ Gelert's disgruntled voice crackled through the comms. _/Guinny got pushed back from Rowen, so the whole team is up again._

 _/I just can't take you guys anywhere, can I?_ _Tell Guinny to stop being such a spineless Dreg and learn to guard a Revive!_

 _/Yeah, yeah. Get moving, hot shot!_

The skirmishers met again on a long, crumbling flight of stone stairs. Muzzle fire lit up the darkness. A sniper laser glided over the cracked ground, causing Dane to leap aside for cover. Gelert and Dane hollered orders to each other and to the unseen Guinefort. Grenades, really detonated bursts of Light, forced the unseen sniper back.

Guinefort made his move. At first, he could not be seen on the helm feed, the cloudy night too dark for the low resolution stream. Then, a greenish night-vision shape appeared, blurring across the sky behind the Titan and the Warlock who had thrown the Nova bomb. Kemal could not describe what happened next. The Exo Hunter became a white hot ball of energy, hurtling through the air at impossible speed, changing direction at a thought.

 _/Sic 'em, Guinny!_ Dane yelled. The party roared their agreement with the sentiment as the Exo chased down the two opposing Guardians at the foot of the stairs.

"Arc blade!" Etienne cried, jumping up and down in front of the sofa. "It's over! It's over!"

"Tegwen might still have her offensive!" Anthony warned.

"Not if Gelert can pin her down!"

 **Guardian down!** Two Ghosts chimed in at nearly the same time as Guinefort swept through their Guardians. They had simply ripped apart in brilliant shears of Light at the touch of a crackling blade.

To Dane's right, a loud _crack!_

 **Guardian down!** a third Ghost called.

The view swung to Gelert. She looked up from her sniper scope, the long, deadly weapon balanced by only one elbow on her knee.

"I knew it!" Etienne hollered. "I told you! She's the best!"

 _/That's the match! Weapons down, Guardians!_ Lord Shaxx thundered over the comms. The Crucible Handler's impressive voice was nearly swallowed by the excitement in the room. Those who had bet on Tegwen's fireteam were cursing Gelert's sniping bitterly, while the winners gleefully shook hands and congratulated each other.

 _/And that's how it's done!_ Kemal could just barely make out Dane's voice. _/Tune in next time for even more ass kicking!_

The feed went dark for good.

Kemal couldn't move from the couch. He sat in the midst of the tumultous celebration, his hands sweating on his beer bottle. His knuckles ached from clenching the drink so hard.

Light! Blessed Light! What had he just seen? The whole match couldn't have lasted more than twenty minutes. If felt like he'd been riveted for hours.

"What did you think, Kemal?" Etienne asked.

Kemal shook his head, unable to think of anything adequate to say. Etienne laughed.

"You'll get used to it! Damn, you should have placed a bet with us! You'd be rolling in glimmer now!"

Kemal smiled weakly, wet his mouth with the beer. His hands were still shaking. Was every match, every Guardian fight, like this?

He tried to rejoin the party and push his sick feelings down. But he was tired already from a long day at work, and wished now for a quiet place to think on what he'd witnessed. In the end, it was easy for him to leave with the others streaming out of the room now that the fight was over. Etienne gave him little resistance, though his smile said he knew that Kemal was still unnerved.

"I'll probably be in late as usual," Etienne said by way of goodbye.

Once inside his own apartment and sitting on his bed, Kemal kicked his boots off and lay back. He really should clean up and go to bed properly. At the moment, he just wanted to lie down.

He didn't know what he had expected. He'd known since birth that Guardians were warriors. He'd heard about the Gap, about Six Fronts, all the old legends. And somehow, his childish fantasies had never quite touched on the reality of those fights. He'd always imagined shining armor, pristine and precious, and Guardians wielding mysterious and glorious power without breaking a sweat. The truth was so…visceral. So ugly in comparison to that fantasy.

His datapad was blinking on the bedside table. Kemal reached for it and saw that a message was waiting. It was from Chelise.

 _You've probably heard the news about me_ , the message said. _I_ ' _d like to talk sometime soon._

His pensive mood grew. He still hadn't answered her last request to talk. He hadn't meant to keep her waiting. He just hadn't known what to say. She still wanted to talk about the Tower, and not through studying the catechisms. He looked at the datapad, considering. Lei had been just as concerned as he was when he'd told her about the night at The Acorn. Had she spoken to Chelise too? What news was she talking about?

 _I'll set up a vidlink tomorrow night_ , he wrote. _Looking forward to it_ , he added, feeling guilty for his silence. It was the truth. He'd said he would be there for her. He would be now.

He lay back on the pillow, scanning idly through work notes, his mind elsewhere. He would talk to her, but if Chelise still insisted on carrying out her crusade, he knew he could not join her. Not after that tiny Warlock's warm inclusion, and certainly not after witnessing the power of the Light firsthand — even if it was through a grainy vidlink. Being there for her did not mean having to agree, right?

If only he could have shown that Crucible match to Chelise. As far as he was concerned, the answers to her questions were all in that fight. The Light Blessed were simply worlds apart, orders of magnitude above the everyday concerns of people like him and Chelise. Their stunning feats of Light, their sheer, raw strength of body and will, had all been proved to him tonight. The catechisms of The Light's Truth spoke of the terrible, wonderful power of Guardians, and now he had seen it for himself. He knew without a doubt now that he had been right to believe in that power all along.

* * *

Zinnia was in mid-yawn when Master Rahool found her reading in the Archive stacks. Her first thought was guilty surprise — there was a whole cart of books that still needed shelving sitting right next to her — and her second thought was annoyance for Perdita not warning her of his approach. She didn't doubt that was on purpose. Perdita had been harping on her for the past hour about getting to work, and now she could almost hear the I told you so coming from Rest.

She turned her yawn to a cheery smile. Master Rahool frowned at her. She was convinced he was capable of no other expression.

"You're not finished yet?" he asked. "I thought you started shelving ages ago!" His golden eyes took in the books scattered on the floor. She winced inwardly, wishing she could hide them. "Blessed Light, girl! You do realize that shelving means to put books away?"

"I've just got this cart left!" she soothed.

"You've had just that cart left for two days now!" he sighed. "I don't understand what's so difficult about putting a few books back where they came from!"

She bit back a retort. If it was so easy, why didn't he do it? The Traveler only knew what kind of penances that kind of mouthing off would earn her!

Zinnia closed the thick volume in her hands, keeping the title hidden. It was a tome about Old Russia, and she didn't want the Cryptarch asking any questions about why she needed to research that topic.

"I just got a little sidetracked," she said. "You always encourage Novices to read."

"I encourage Novices to do their duties like they're told," he grouched. "And you're not a Novice!"

 _Thank the Light for that!_ she thought. She slid the book back onto the shelf.

"That's right. I'm sent to do a Novice's work, with none of the recognition."

"I can let Ikora Rey recognize you all you'd like!" Master Rahool snapped. "Perhaps I ought to pay her a visit right now and give her a report on your penances!"

Zinnia's smile disappeared. What had gotten into him? Usually he wasn't this grumpy! She eyed the Cryptarch closely. On second look, he did seem a little pale. There was a darkness under his eyes that hadn't been there the day before. And come to think of it, his voice sounded a little funny, like his big nose was pinched. Oh, she'd seen this all before…!

"You're not feeling well, are you?" she asked.

Master Rahool had opened his mouth to keep scolding her. He paused in the act, puzzled by the subject change.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You've caught Jorin's cold!"

"It's just a few sniffles," he grumbled.

"You look miserable as a half-Revived Hunter!" Zinnia shook her head. "I think you'd better get some rest."

"Oh? Are you going to take on my evening duties for me?" Master Rahool sighed.

"I can do that!" Light, was he being serious? That would be far more interesting than stupid shelving!

"I think not," he said, shutting down her hopes. "They need to be done sometime this Age."

Now she frowned at him. He didn't have to be mean about it!

"Get those books shelved in the next half hour, or I really will speak with Ikora," he said, waving a hand at the cart. He began to move off down the main aisle. She watched him go, still frowning. With him sick, the Archives were going to be a miserable place. Whenever Master Rahool was unhappy, everyone knew about it. Why did she have to be stuck with boring old shelving duty? Why couldn't her penances be something interesting and meaningful? Two months ago, she'd made the first major discovery about the Vault of Glass in an Age, cracking its only known map, and now she was placed below the lowest Cryptarchy Initiate! All for a little prank involving tea! Nobody had a sense of humor lately, least of all Master Rahool.

Zinnia looked back at the cart, filled with the books she'd retrieved from the Praxics and then some. Her penances weren't due to be over for another couple of weeks. This was all she could look forward to if things didn't change. Light, she was bored! She couldn't go on like this!

"Master Rahool!" she called, sprinting out from the stacks. Her voice echoed in the empty hall. The Archives were never crowded, but nights left the chambers especially deserted.

The Cryptarch turned, a ways ahead of her down the grand chamber. She came to a stop before him, trying not to twist her hands in her vestment sleeves. Her request had to be pulled off with dignity and confidence.

"I want to help with the Vault project," she said.

Master Rahool just blinked back at her and sniffed.

"And?" he prompted.

" _And_ I was hoping you would agree that it's a very good idea," she said. "A far better use of my penance time than shelving books."

Master Rahool crossed his arms and leveled a hard look her way. That was not a good sign.

"You really will do anything to avoid a little work, won't you?" he said. She crossed her arms as well, glowering right back at him.

"For two months you've ignored my contributions to the Vault project and have had me doing the most menial tasks for the Archives! What gives?"

His hard look turned incredulous.

"What gives?" he snorted. "How about the fact that shelving books is a monumental task for you, and yet here you are asking me for a spot on one of our most ambitious projects to date?"

"Shelving is boring," Zinnia corrected him. "Not monumental!"

"It's also a very necessary duty," he said firmly. "One that every Cryptarch has had to bear. Why should you be the exception?"

"Because I'm not a Cryptarch?" she ventured.

"How convenient," he grunted. "Well, seeing as how the Vault is a Cryptarchy project, I think you've just answered your own question. Good night to you."

He walked away again. Zinnia scowled at his back and jogged up beside him.

"Come on, Master Rahool! Surely there's some way I can be involved!"

"None that I can think of at the moment."

"Okay. Think a little longer and get back to me," she grinned hopefully.

He sighed. "You'll be running out of here the moment your penances are over. Why should I get you embroiled in a project just to have you quit?"

"I would stay for that!" she protested.

"Not good enough."

"Why not?"

"How can I trust someone who can't stick to simple archiving just because it's boring? Do you think the Vault project is going to be all action and adventure? Blessed Light, we've been stuck on the same problems for weeks now!"

"It wouldn't get boring to me!" she assured.

Master Rahool shook his head. "The answer is still no. Nobody skips ahead in the Cryptarchy. Look at Jorin, he's still working his way to Adept just like any of the other Novices, and he could run circles around most of them!"

"But I'm not in the Cryptarchy! You said so yourself!"

"All the more reason that I shouldn't place you above your station," he said.

She stopped in front of him, hands on her hips, causing him to have to stop too or collide with her.

"You're going to use that against me now?" she demanded. "Just because I'm not an official member of your Order, you're going to treat me like this?"

"Like what?" he asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Like any other person starting out in the Cryptarchy? Do you think your work here is some kind of singled-out punishment?"

"Well, being here is part of my penances," she reminded him.

"Your penances are to serve the Cryptarchy as I see fit, rather than playing foolish pranks on us because you were caught sneaking into the Inner Archives!"

"So let me serve!" she cried.

Master Rahool pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What do you think the shelving is abou —" he cut off to a round of sneezing. "Blast!" he cursed, pulling out a handkerchief from his robe pocket. He wiped his nose, glowering at her and the handkerchief, at anything in sight. Zinnia swallowed her arguments. She wasn't going to get anywhere with the Cryptarch in such a bad mood. Despite her annoyance, she rather felt sorry for him. Getting sick sounded like an awful prospect. Imagine being at the mercy of tiny germs! The winter weather seemed to bring out all kind of ailments in civilians. Was this really just a cold, or could it be something far more serious?

Master Rahool stowed his handkerchief.

"Go on and attend to your duties," he sniffed. "Then report to Dudley and see what else he needs taken care of. He should be in — " He cut off again as Zinnia pressed her hand to his forehead.

"What in the Light are you doing?"

"I'm checking for a fever!"

She had seen Jana do this once, although it wasn't making a whole lot of sense to her now. What did a fever feel like? His forehead just felt like a forehead. Maybe a little clammy.

"Hmm. I guess you _do_ feel a little of warm."

"Well, I should think so. These robes are —"

"Perdita, can you do a scan?" she interrupted him.

Perdita clicked in surprise, but appeared from Rest.

"I don't need a scan," Master Rahool sighed. Perdita was already getting to work.

 **A slight elevation in temperature, likely from warm clothing. Nothing serious.**

"There, you see? I'm fine. From Perdita herself!" He removed her hand. She could tell he was going to leave again. She wrestled with her disappointment and lost. Maybe just one more try couldn't hurt…

"Could you at least think over what I've said?" she asked.

"I already have," he said. "Off with you."

"But —"

"Not another word, Zinnia, or I'll retire our service Frame and let you do his job! Believe me, you'll be begging for shelving duty after that!"

She grit her teeth and kept silent. There was a lot she still wanted to say, but she was no fool. She could still glare though. Master Rahool returned it.

"Good night," he grumbled, turning on his heel and hurrying off.

Perdita rustled her fins. A lecture was coming.

"I know what you're going to say," she forestalled her Ghost. "Just save it!"

 **You're a mind reader now?** Perdita clicked mildly, and again when Zinnia made a face at her. She stalked back to the cart, wishing she could throw something. Perdita had better not get too close, or maybe she'd throw _her_!

 **Maybe Master Rahool would be more amenable to your request if just you did the work he assigns you.**

"I do!" Zinnia cried, picking up the books she'd left on the floor.

 **I mean promptly** , Perdita sighed. **Without complaint.**

"Easy for you to say! You can go off and do whatever you like while I'm stuck here!"

 **I've done no such thing.**

"But you could!"

 **What's so terrible about shelving?** Perdita asked. **You've been wanting an inside look at the Cryptarchy, and now you have it. If you were just a little more attentive to your tasks, Master Rahool might feel inclined to let you in on even more interesting things.**

"It's a ridiculous waste of time!" Zinnia growled. "He knows I can be useful in other ways. He's deliberately making me do busywork, all because he's just sore from one little joke!"

 **Rightfully so. The Cryptarch needs some dignity, just like the rest of us.**

"I think he's got enough dignity for everyone in this Tower!" She shoved the books back in their spots a little harder than necessary. "And he'll never let anyone forget it!"

 **I think** ** _you're_** **just sore about getting caught.**

"Hmph!" She turned away from Perdita and pushed the cart to the next section. Perdita trailed along in her wake while she shelved, infuriatingly calm as she always was in these situations.

"It's bad enough that Shenu thinks I'm a miserable failure," Zinnia said after a time. "I don't need Master Rahool telling me the same."

 **I haven't heard the Cryptarch say anything of the sort.**

"It's what he means when he keeps me archiving!" Zinnia waved a book at her Ghost.

 **Oh, now you're just making things up!**

"Am I?" Zinnia challenged. "Remember how he argued with Ikora over my penances? He didn't even want me to serve them! He didn't think I could do it!"

 **He just wanted to make sure there wasn't going to be any more ink his tea. I'm sure Master Rahool thinks you're very capable. He's just…very set in his ways.**

"Ha! That's an understatement! He makes Shenu look like a flake!"

 **Speaking of Shenu, we'd better go over your Void studies.**

Light, but Perdita always knew how to twist the knife a little bit more!

"Can't it wait until after the shelving?" she groaned.

 **Of course it could** , Perdita chirped. **But we're not going to let it.**

 _No_ , Zinnia thought darkly. _Of course we're not! Not with Perdita the nanny on the job!_ Stupid shelving! Stupid Void! What did a Warlock have to do to catch a break? How could she get Master Rahool to understand she would be an asset to the Vault project? Would it really work to just take on archive duty without comment? Would he really notice her dedication and promote her to the team? More than likely he'd just forget about her…or gloat that his badgering had worked! What if she could bring back something interesting from the Cosmodrome tomorrow? Surely that would catch his attention more than putting books in the right spot…

As Perdita drilled her on Shenu's tenets of the Void, she began to formulate a plan. Yes, a little souvenir could work nicely. And if she couldn't find anything? Well…maybe then she'd see about swallowing her pride and doing these tasks that, given the choice, even the Initiates wouldn't touch.

The Light send that the Fallen had left them something interesting!

* * *

Quarrel tightened a bracer around her left forearm and flexed her hand experimentally. The fit was a little tight, meant for Zinnia's tiny wrists, but it would do nicely for protection in the Cosmodrome tomorrow morning. Ghost was at Rest, relieved from his duties as a vidscreen for Dane's stream. That skirmish had ended an hour ago, and she was still thinking about it.

Damn it all, Dane hadn't been just talk! The Hunter was good. A braggart, like Ghost had said, but undeniably good. He and his team had gotten in and out of situations that made her flight through the Cosmodrome look like some kind of Guardians episode, laughable and trite.

As she sat on the sitting room floor and tweaked her armor, she began to feel that claw of worry along with a knot of cold fear in her stomach. The Speaker's words had been a warm shroud over her since their meeting, helping to dispel her anxiety even though questions remained. Now, only a handful of hours from her anticipated departure with Zinnia, she was beginning to wonder if she really had what it took to be abroad as a Guardian. Hunters like Dane, Guinefort, and Gelert would have no problems out there. Their prowess and teamwork served them well. As for her…had her survival all come down to just luck?

At least Zinnia seemed to think otherwise, though honestly that was likely just stars in her eyes. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered how much the little Warlock knew what they were getting into. Zinnia was obviously much more experienced than herself, but she didn't seem to get out of the Tower much.

 **You should get some sleep** , Ghost spoke from Rest. **You don't want to be tired in the Cosmodrome.**

"I'll go to sleep soon," she said quietly. She stood, catching her dim reflection in the sitting room window. A tall woman, clad in light armor, a white scarf snugged around her neck. Hardly looking like the ferocious Guardians she'd seen in the skirmish. _Our humble, infinite, desperate hope…_

She couldn't run from this. She wouldn't run. Her unknown story had ended and began anew in the Cosmodrome, and it was there she intended to see where it led.


	16. A Rip in the Sky

Quarrel crouched in tall winter-dead grass atop a hill deep in the old Russian steppes. The ground rose in gentle swells, frozen in undulation like waves in the City's harbor. The day was bright, the brilliant blue sky cloudless save for white mounds massing over the mountains. Crisp patches of snow blazed so brightly her helm's visor couldn't quite cut out the glare.

Far in the distance, vast towers rose into the sky. Golden Age ships perched on those Towers, waiting for a launch that would never come. The horizon was punctuated with clumps of buildings, the command centers for those ships. She very much wanted to climb up one of those towers all the way to the top and get a good look around. She was certain Ghost wouldn't like that. If he could have his way, she would be crawling all around the Cosmodrome on hands and knees, never standing above the cover of grass and brush. Today he was taking his overprotection very seriously indeed. She breathed deep through the helm's oxygen filters. Cold air rushed into her throat, accompanied by a rush of memories.

 _Eyes up, Guardian…_

Had it really been only a week since her Rebirth?

 **Maybe we should have called backup** , Ghost clicked.

"Backup?" she echoed, her own voice close in her ears thanks to the in-helm comms. "I thought you said this sector was clear." The comm speakers squealed. She winced and touched the audio controls on the jawline. The bland, scratched helmet didn't seem to have any setting other than too quiet or unbearably loud. No wonder that unknown Hunter benefactor had "donated" it to the Vanguard armory for new recruits. They'd probably been chuckling all the while, thinking about the next owner's plight.

 **It is clear. For now.**

"I don't think we need backup for sightseeing," she said. Even so, she thought again of Dane and his fireteam. What if she had asked them to come?

 **I didn't think I would need backup for finding you** , Ghost reminded her pointedly. **We're outside the City Walls now. Anything could happen.**

"Are you scared?" she teased.

 **No! …Are you?**

She took another deep breath.

 _Booming skiffs, screaming Dregs, blood and pain. The Captain's choking grip._

"Maybe a little," she admitted.

 **I'll protect you.**

Ghost was so solemn in his vow that she smiled. That declaration sounded ludicrous coming from the tiny creature, but she didn't doubt that he meant every word. For a week he'd watched her nutrition, sleep, and gun range training with as much tenacity as he'd flown in the face of that Captain.

Behind her, the bushes rustled. Zinnia scrambled out.

"There! Much better!" she sighed. She'd been desperate to find a private spot to relieve herself ever since they had transmatted to the surface from Quarrel's ship. The little Warlock plopped onto the frozen ground and began to fuss with her boot buckles.

"Ugh, it's cold here! Worse than the Tower! I thought I'd freeze to death in those bushes! Just do yourself a favor and go in the ship if you need to." Zinnia was a rush of noise after the quietness of the ride. Quiet only because Zinnia had fallen asleep for the last hour of the trip. For much of the time the Warlock had been a flurry of conversation about the Cosmodrome and the various designations of the Fallen, of games — round after round of riddles and a guessing game called I Spy — and also gossip about the Tower, particularly the Archives."I don't know what's worse," Zinnia went on, "cramming into those tiny ship lavs or scraping your butt on thorns!"

Quarrel checked her rifle while Zinnia chattered on. It looked an entirely different gun now from the ancient piece Ghost had scrounged up a week ago, gleaming handsomely in the morning sun against her gauntlets. She remembered him chuckling about having to work on such a rare, old thing when he'd given it back to her during her first trip to the Armory. His piercing blue eyes had opened to their fullest when she'd declared she would take it with her on her next excursion. Then he had nodded approvingly, and given it an extra look to make sure the firing mechanisms wouldn't jam. She'd had the feeling he was pleased to see her relying on the old-fashioned technology. But then he had also muttered something about "invincible newbies" as she walked away.

Quarrel slung the weapon over her shoulder on its new strap, also a gift from the gunsmith on that first visit. The repurposed leather was stitched together from a couple of different broken spares, creating a mottled look that was actually quite nice. Banshee probably hadn't been thinking of aesthetics and would just grunt at any compliments.

Zinnia trailed off her commentary to fiddle with a gauntlet strap, her tongue sticking out between her teeth in concentration. Quarrel took advantage of her silence to get a word in.

"You ready for this?"

It was time to set out. She didn't want to squat on this hillside all day. Once Ghost had transmatted her to the ground, it had been all she could do to wait for Zinnia to find a suitable bathroom. They were really here. At last, she had returned.

"Just a sec," Zinnia grunted, scowling at her gauntlet. It seemed to not be clasping properly. She gave up and stuffed the strap into her sturdy vestment cuff. Then, smiling, she placed her helm on her head. It was a good deal nicer than Quarrel's, with a polished silvery shell and pretty vine filigree on the temples. The entire faceplate was a featureless shine of black plasteel.

"Can you hear me okay?" Zinnia's voice was too loud in her comms. Quarrel winced again and touched the controls. She gave the Warlock a thumbs up.

"Great! Let's go!" Zinnia bounded to her feet. Her dark green vestments, thicker than the casual ones she wore in the Tower, looked well insulated against the wind and snow. Quarrel's own armor plates were padded, but not terrifically warm. Moving would help. So would Ghost's scarf. Ghost was pleased that she had decided to keep wearing it. Any Hunters she passed in the Tower also seemed pleased, raising eyebrows and murmuring to each other when they saw her. It shouldn't have caused such a stir, due to the City's penchant for scarves. It wasn't like she was wearing one of their long, elaborate cloaks. Perhaps she ought to tie the cloth around her left arm and walk by the Warlocks. Or hang it around her waist and wait for the Titan's reactions. Make a little fun as she considered her options about choosing an Order. Zinnia would certainly approve of that fun, even though she too was waiting impatiently to learn what the choice would be.

Down the other side of the hill lay a small pond ringed with weeds, iced over and reflecting the sky. That seemed like as good a direction to start in as any. Quarrel rose to her feet.

 **Careful!** Ghost warned as soon as she stood to her full height. She had the feeling this was going to be a long day.

Quarrel thought about how the Hunters moved while she walked. Even on the hard stones and tile of the Tower, they hardly made a sound. Some of that was due to their penchant for soft-soled shoes and slim boots. The rest had something to do with…well, she wasn't sure how they did it. They just didn't seem to have any weight to them at all when they moved. They were just like the wind, moving from place to place, only noticed by a rustling at edges and corners as they passed. Her own footsteps in the dry grass sounded far too loud. The boots Ghost had made for her were sturdy and well-crafted, but while they weren't the heavy treads the Titans favored, they also weren't the quietest. Despite her bravado, she really didn't want to attract the attention of the Fallen anymore than Ghost did. Zinnia, on the other hand, kicked through the grass without a thought, gazing curiously all around her.

Quarrel also kept her head swiveling as she moved. Her new helm had decent peripheral views, though somewhat scuffed and scratched. The audio sensors picked up and amplified the noises around her. In this empty place, that was mostly the wind, which seemed to set them off to squealing as much as speech did. The speakers hissed and scratched all the way to the bottom of the hollow and the banks of the pond.

A burst of movement in the reeds made her spin on her heel. The rifle was slung into her hands before she had even stopped moving. A few paces from her, Zinnia froze, one hand resting on her hand cannon's grip.

 **A rabbit** , Ghost chirped into their comms, sounding quite relieved. The grass rustled as the unseen creature scampered away from them. Quarrel laughed softly, also relieved.

"See? We're ready for anything," she said.

 **Sure. As long as we're almost on top of it** , Ghost clicked.

 _Maybe he should try wandering around on two legs!_ she thought irritably.

She let the rifle hang in her grip as they began to climb the next hill. Her boots crunched into the top layer of icy snow, perpetually in shade on the hillside, her shins dusting the feathers of ice from stalks of grass. She crested the hill and trekked down again, Zinnia at her side, Ghost silently witnessing from Rest. She imagined he was as pensive as she, quieted by the huge emptiness of the world around them. It was a shock after the busy crowds of the Tower, the energetic humming of thousands working and living in the same place. It was also soothing after a long week of new discoveries and wonders. There was something very cathartic about just the earth and the sky.

And, of course, there was Zinnia's conversation. The Warlock could not be quiet for more than ten seconds before she had to talk about something else. She was in a phenomenal mood, as happy to be out of the Tower as Quarrel was. The happier she was, the more talkative she became. Zinnia had a comment for everything, from the rocks underfoot to the colony ships in the distance. Quarrel tried to be polite and listen, occasionally interjecting, but really she wished they could just walk in silence.

A faint whistle rose on the wind. Quarrel froze and stared hard into the distance. The helm's visor fed subtle visual cues on its screen — red circles honing in on a rock nearby, green lines tracking the horizon lest she lose her sense of up and down. She ignored all of those for the most part, letting her focus go soft and listening to the audio sensors, trying to filter out the wind. Ah. That was it. The damn thing was just feeding back again. Why had this piece of junk even been allowed to be resold? And to think she had traded a good helm for it!

"Problem?" Zinnia asked.

"Just hearing things," Quarrel answered. "I've about had it with this helm."

"I remember my first equipment," Zinnia said, sympathetic. "It was super uncomfortable. We'll get you fixed up with something good soon. I'm going to sell some artifacts to the Archives!" She patted the small satchel hanging from her wide leather belt. Its pouches were already filled with items she had picked up on their short walk so far — pebbles, roots, bits of plastic.

 **This helm is better than nothing** , Ghost said.

"If you say so," she sighed. They continued their trek.

The interruption reminded her she had better start thinking about the Fallen. If she and Zinnia could cover ground unnoticed, so could they. She could still remember the stealth of the larger Fallen — Vandals, they were called — all cold focus and deadly intent with their swords. She thought enviously of their silent progress on two-toed feet, and remembered that she had seen more than one only walking on wrapped insteps, their thick toes and heels free to touch the ground. Maybe it was just because they didn't have enough shoes to go around, but she thought they might be on to something.

A red hawk circled high above, wings stretched to their fullest to ride the air currents. Quarrel thought again of the high towers in the distance. To climb higher, to see the world all at once…

"What do you think is up there?" she asked, gesturing at the towers in the distance.

"I bet there's all kinds of Golden Age tech!" Zinnia said gleefully. "We should go see!" She looked like she might take off running over the hills at any second.

 **Those gantries are pretty beat up** , Ghost said. **The elements have surely rusted them out.**

"Are they too rusted to climb?" Quarrel asked.

 **Climb? Well…I suppose it might be possible to climb them still. Dangerous, but possible.**

"I want to look inside one of them," she decided.

"Me too!" Zinnia cried. Quarrel's speakers whined.

Ghost clicked and buzzed, his way of searching for words.

T **he Fallen have surely picked them clean by now** , he said. **I don't think you'd find much but a bunch of snapped wires, skeletons, and a whole lot of trash from Fallen raiding parties.**

"Skeletons?"

"Of the colonists," Zinnia explained. "These were the ships that took people to the lunar colonies and beyond, all the way out to Venus and Mars. Some of them even made it to the asteroid belt! Their descendants became the Awoken!" She proudly jabbed a thumb at herself.

"These ones didn't make it," Quarrel mused, looking at the towers.

 **No. They have sat here since the final days of the Collapse** , Ghost said solemnly. **But those who did escape can't all be called lucky.**

"Why not?"

 **Many of the ships broke down outside of Earth's orbit. We've found records from old flight recorders that indicate there were insufficient resources to keep long-term travel possible, not to mention maintaining full life support to the stasis pods. Those fleeing Earth simply had to leave too quickly to ensure they had everything they needed for a safe journey. The Fallen also captured some ships, slaughtering the passengers and stealing the technology inside.**

"That's awful," she murmured. She couldn't decide which would be worse: to be huddled defenseless against the Fallen or to slowly perish in the vastness of space as a sleeping passenger. At least against the Fallen, one could do something! Ghost had told her a little bit about the Collapse on the ride over once Zinnia had fallen asleep. He didn't know much, except that it was the bloody, horrific end of the Golden Age and the near-extinction of humanity. Thousands had tried to leave the planet, looking for sanctuary.

 **Very awful** , Ghost agreed. **I suspect the Fallen still keep an eye on even these old colony ships. They're pretty territorial, even over junk.**

"If you don't want to go, you can just say so," she sighed.

Ghost chirped again, demurring.

 **I didn't say that. I'll go where you go.**

 _Whether you like it or not_ , she thought. He was probably very much aware of that fact already.

"Let's just see what comes up," she said, deciding to be diplomatic. Zinnia at least agreed with that, hopping forward through the grass, stooping to pick up anything of interest.

"Master Rahool says Golden Age tech often has crazy security measures that can really catch you off guard," Zinnia said. "Trying to get into old computing systems might even make you cross paths with a Warmind! There's supposed to be one here!" The Warlock sounded excited by that prospect.

They traversed several more wide hills, these ones growing steeper and more ridgelike. The squat, sprawling building complexes were firmly at her right shoulder. Ahead and to her left, a long snaking ribbon of road slipped across the countryside, wending its way toward a crumbling bridge over a snowy chasm, coming to a stop before a gate choked with ancient automobiles and debris. That was where Ghost had found her. It was kilometers away yet. She wondered if they could check it out. What if there was some clue about what she had been doing there before she died? But of course Ghost would not approve of getting so near where they knew Fallen had recently been. She would have to hope he would warm up to the idea.

For now, the nearby road seemed like a good a place to explore. Zinnia agreed and they made a deliberate course down a fold in the hills. The wind was picking up now, rushing down off the mountains and rippling the yellowed steppe grass in shining waves. Little gnarled hopes of trees, bent permanently in the shape of the wind's travel, were the only things to impede its progress. It snapped at the scarf around her neck and the hem of Zinnia's vestments, hurrying them along.

The road cut through the grassland like a scar. The paving had long ago cracked and crumbled, and opportunistic grasses and shrubs poked out between chunks of asphalt so much that in many places it was hard to tell there had ever been a road at all. Enough remained, however, to mark an abrupt interruption from nature. Quarrel took a tentative step onto the hard surface. It was silly to feel like she was creeping out of cover now. The grasses had only come up to her knees. But the feeling remained.

A few paces away, an ancient car lay on its side, empty windows gaping up into the sky. She and Zinnia circled it, peering inside curiously. There was little to be seen but the rusted frame and shining bits of glass, ground down so fine it sparkled like sand.

"Everything is gone," Quarrel said. She didn't actually know what she was supposed to find in one of these things, but she was certain it should be more than this.

"A few centuries of entropy will do that," Zinnia said, poking her head through a window frame. "And scavenging." She tossed hunk of metal over her shoulder.

"The Fallen?" Quarrel asked.

 **Travelers moving through the area will also take what they can find** , Ghost clicked. **However, the distinct lack of bones suggests the Fallen have indeed been through here. They really like collecting them.**

"They're studying us," Zinnia said, sounding utterly unconcerned as she poked at the vehicle's smashed console.

 **And putting trophies on display** , Ghost sighed. **Much like we do with the Ahamkara skulls. It's barbaric!**

Quarrel's spine prickled. That could have been her a week ago. Some Fallen trophy…

They scrounged through a few more vehicles, reaching in and pulling out bits of broken gauges and fraying cloth to examine. Every once in a while she could see an hollow-eyed skull peering back at her, though usually the bones that remained were just fragments. Quarrel walked carefully around them. Her bones had lain like that, open to the wind and the rain and the countless days and nights. How fortunate for her that the Fallen had taken no interest, that no traveler's boot had carelessly crushed her skull into dust. Or maybe they had. She had not asked Ghost what _condition_ she had been in when he found her.

Quarrel didn't see anything worthwhile to be taken as a souvenir, so she continued to wander empty-handed while Zinnia tore through an old trunk. A quarter of a kilometer down the road from where they started, a large truck languished, its van resting at a crazy angle to the cab. Several cars were heaped up against it, their front ends crumpled against each other, their catastrophic crash forever frozen in time. The van had a large hole torn in the side. Of course she was surely not the first to set foot in it. Still, she hopped in and scuffled about in the dirty interior. She found only bits of plastic and nails deformed by rust.

"What do you think it carried?" she asked Ghost.

 **I'd say something perishable, by the marks of insulation in the walls. Food, perhaps?**

That would have made it lucrative to hungry, frustrated drivers. Maybe this hole had been ripped open long before the Fallen or scavenging travelers. Maybe the people in this traffic jam had turned against the truck driver when they couldn't get inside the Cosmodrome walls. Hungry, panicked, angry…was that how she'd been?

"How did I die?" she asked. The wind whistled through the audio sensors and they fizzled out again.

"Ugh. Hang on," she said, and reached up to unbuckle the helm. A few tugs later and it was off. She blinked in the semi-darkness. The visor's light adjustment had been helping her to see in the gloom.

 **You really should leave that on when in the field** , Ghost immediately admonished her. **Suppose we get ambushed?**

"We're more likely to get ambushed because I can't hear anything but this awful screeching!" Quarrel sighed. The cold breeze on her cheeks was refreshing. She hopped back out of the hole.

 **What about a Vandal's sniper bullet?** Ghost pressed. **You don't need to** ** _hear_** **that!**

She squatted on her heels next to a half-buried skeleton.

"I'll put it back on in a minute," she conceded. "I promise I won't tell on you to Cayde."

 **This is not just a matter of protocol!** Ghost huffed. **I'm supposed to keep you out of danger!**

She touched a rib bone, encrusted with dirt and frost.

"I'm a Guardian. Aren't I supposed to go into danger?"

She was teasing the Ghost, and she knew he was going to be displeased, but she couldn't help it. He was still so fiercely obstinate in his protection! She had a feeling he was going to start making her wear her helmet even in the Tower if she so much as barked a shin against her bed! She'd been heartened to find that his initial protests about going to the Cosmodrome had settled down the closer they came to arrival. He'd seemed eager enough to get out and explore at last. But as soon as her boots had touched the ground, the criticisms had started anew.

 **There's such a thing as needless danger** , Ghost buzzed. **Don't make me have to resurrect you anymore than needed. It's just awful to think about!**

"Okay, okay!" she sighed. "I'll be careful. I promise."

Quarrel scraped the soil next to the skeleton's broken hand. Something small and bright glinted in the snow. She picked it up and examined it. A simple gold ring.

 **Hmm. Dates back to the Collapse, at least** , Ghost clicked.

"Do you want to come out and look around?" she asked.

 **Well…all right. All the better to keep an eye on you!**

She held out her hand, practicing the gesture Zinnia had taught her. It wasn't necessary for his apparition, but as Zinnia had explained, it was a good way to let a fireteam know that a Ghost was coming out into the open.

Ghost appeared, winking up at her. She held the ring up for him to examine.

 **Yes, Golden Age. Probably a matrimonial band, given its placement next to the left hand.**

Ghost turned in the air to regard the skeleton. His fins drew down in consternation.

 **Sad to think about all these lives lost** , he sighed.

"You didn't answer my question," she said, prodding him with a finger.

 **What?** He spun to face her. **Oh. My scans were unclear. After so much time, it was very hard to work out the cause of your death. There was a lot of deterioration.**

She tried to imagine herself cold and silent like this skeleton. It was a chilling thought. And yet, here she was. That would never stop being as baffling as it was wondrous.

 **Still, if I had to hazard a guess, there appeared to be significant trauma to your legs. You were crushed. Perhaps run over by the very automobile I found you beside. Well, before somebody moved you to a sitting position, anyways.**

She just blinked at Ghost, trying to take that all in. What could she possibly say?

"Well, I guess there are worse ways to die."

 **Quite** , Ghost chirped. He sent a scan over the skeleton. **This fellow was shot, probably in an attempt to get to the contents of this truck. I'm guessing he was the driver, sent to stock the colony ships.**

She shook her head, saddened by the scene playing out in her mind. Cars jammed up for miles from horizon to horizon, people wailing to get on the colony ships, hungry and thirsty and scared. The driver delivering supplies to those ships and getting caught in the crowd, who quickly turned hostile when he wouldn't turn over the cargo to them instead…

She looked at the ring in her hand and then dusted it off, rubbing it with the roughened finger of her gauntlet to make the gold shine again. The skeleton's left hand was long gone, the finger bones scattered. She gently set the ring in its upturned right palm. Satisfied, she stood and adjusted her scarf. The breeze was getting colder. The clouds over the mountains were starting to darken.

Ghost hovered up to her shoulder, turning all about, scanning the distance. The grass rippled and waved in the wind and she felt an answering pull in her chest. There was still so much to see! Whatever she had known of the world before, it was all lost to her now.

 **Where to?** Ghost asked.

The sky split apart.

At first, that was all she could think. The sky was splitting open, cracking apart like an egg, tearing like a piece of cloth. The noise was unbearable. Wrenching, grating, shrieking — reality screaming around them. She clapped her hands to her ears, dropping the helmet as she ducked into a crouch. Ghost's fins stood straight out in shock. He zipped to her side, huddling against her shoulder and trembling, peering around wildly.

"What's happening?!" Zinnia cried, undeniably frightened over the comms.

A shadow fell over Quarrel. She looked up. Something immense was coming out of a rip in the sky. A Fallen ship? No, it was not the same shape, and that had not been the telltale boom.

That hole in the air! It was a tear in space itself. It was _wrong_.

Long and ponderous, a huge obsidian block glided through that awful gap. She thought she saw carved alcoves in its side — windows? Was this another ship? Its drone was bone deep, gut-shaking. The skeleton beside her shook, a macabre imitation of silent laughter. Pebbles danced around her feet.

 **It can't be!** Ghost gasped, barely audible over the terrible noise. **Be still, both of you!** he cried. **Don't move a muscle!**

Quarrel didn't need to be told twice. The sight sickened her. Everything about this mysterious object felt as wrong as that noise, as that impossible portal, seething black and crackling with electric green pulses. She and Ghost stayed as still as they could, watching the monolith glide overhead. At last its shadow slipped off of them and the sunlight returned, feeling all the more warm and cheering. On the strange ship went, without any deviation in course, toward the complex beyond the bridge. The rumbling slowly faded to a distant thunder.

Zinnia came running over, unable to hold still any longer. She flung herself beside Quarrel, grasping her arm.

"What is that thing?" Quarrel asked.

 **That…is a Hive Tombship** , Ghost answered. He sounded terrified. His bright eye was transfixed on the massive black thing crawling over the grasslands. Wherever its shadow fell, Quarrel felt the land went still.

"The Hive?!" Zinnia yelped.

"Hive?" Quarrel asked." What are they?"

 **This is bad** , Ghost said, buzzing in distress. **This is very, very bad! We have to tell the Vanguard! The Darkness is near!**

The Tombship was now over the complex. It came to a halt with no visible thrusters. It had no wings, no discernible front or back end. It was just a carved block of blackest something moving about through the sky. The air below it shimmered. Quarrel stood up, straining her eyes to get a better view. The horrific, tearing screech sounded again. She stumbled, fighting the urge to scream. Zinnia's grip tightened on her arm.

Another rip, and the ship glided into it, disappearing bit by bit. The hole closed. The ship was gone. Silence reigned over the steppes, only the wind whispering in the grass. Quarrel swallowed. The claw in her throat was back.

"The Hive!" Zinnia breathed, staring to where the ship had disappeared.

Quarrel glanced down at her helmet. After a moment, she was resolved. She stooped and picked it up, placing it on her head and buckling the clasps.

"Let's check it out," she said.

 **I…I don't think that's such a good idea** , Ghost quavered.

"Perdita doesn't either," Zinnia said uncertainly.

"Ghost, you said the Vanguard should know!"

Ghost searched her visor, fins twitching nervously. Then he looked toward the distant complex. After a while, his fins flicked in a nod.

 **You're right. We should investigate.**

"You heard him!" Zinnia was speaking to Perdita at Rest. She paused for the one-sided conversation. Perdita was not opting to use the comms. "Well, Shenu isn't here… don't you think he'd want me to find out for sure?…Ghost is going… yeah, I _know_ he's got to stay with his Guardian…!" She put her hands on her hips, releasing Quarrel's arm. Apparently, Perdita was giving her an earful. Finally, Zinnia turned back to Quarrel.

"She says we should just take a quick look and get out."

 **Agreed** , Ghost clicked. He still sounded shaken.

"A quick look," Quarrel said. She looked back toward the complex. It was still a long walk to the walls.

"Should we get the ship?" she asked.

"Let's take our Sparrows!" Zinnia said. Quarrel grinned. She hadn't thought about the little vehicle since Amanda had offered it.

"Ghost, do we still have that Sparrow?"

 **We do** , Ghost chirped.

A sleek light hovercraft materialized before her. She stepped up to it, examining it with as much glee as Zinnia was showing. She straddled the seat and gripped the handlebars, looking around uncertainly for where to put her feet.

"You have to lean forward," Zinnia explained. "See those stirrups in the back?"

Quarrel tentatively tried her boot in one. The position had her lying flush against the machine's body.

"Can you fit on here too?" she asked Zinnia.

"I don't have to. Perdita stowed my Sparrow on your ship too!" On cue, her Sparrow appeared. It was much the same as Quarrel's, except the paint was a matte green where hers was ivory white. Zinnia hopped onto the little craft with practiced ease. The engine roared to life at a twist of her hand on the grips. Quarrel copied her, and the Sparrow rumbled beneath her.

"Push forward to accelerate!" Zinnia called over the engines. "Hang on with your knees and stay low!"

Swatches of padding dipped over the sides of the Sparrow's body to Quarrel's thighs. A small viewscreen showed not much more than an accelerometer and a horizon level. Before she could ask anything else, Zinnia roared off.

"Ready?" she called to Ghost. He went to Rest.

 **Just don't fall off!**

She pushed the left stick forward, a little nudge. The Sparrow hopped forward. She grinned. Turning wasn't too bad, just a little guidance from each handle. The stirrups intuitively swung with the craft's movement. She guided it about to catch Zinnia in the distance, lining her up between the hull prongs.

 _Here goes nothing…!_

She pushed the stick forward again, this time much further.

The Sparrow launched into flight. Skimming the tops of the grasses, flying over rocks that would have tripped running feet, she sped over the rolling hills. Her grin grew so wide her face hurt. This thing was incredible! She would have liked to just open the Sparrow up completely and have fun with it, bringing it all over the steppes. But she had a mission now, and she had to focus. It wouldn't do to crash before even making it to the investigation.

The Sparrow dove to the bottom of a hill and immediately began the climb up the next. The nose pointed to the sky when she crested the top and for a few seconds Sparrow and rider were launched into the air, weightless, her body beginning to lift from the saddle. The landing was not so graceful as she had wished — the thump rattled her teeth and knocked the breath out of her — but the Sparrow hardly slowed for a second. Its engines groaned and then she was off again, the Cosmodrome wall growing nearer by the second. It wasn't the most covert method of travel, but it was much faster than walking. Besides, any Fallen in the area were surely already looking in their direction, wondering about that awful ship and where it had come from.

She sped through icy, narrow gullies and across rocky flats, sending snow flurries spiraling and blowing in her wake, leaving the highway behind.

 **My scans show no unusual activity up ahead** , Ghost said.

"Where's our nearest entrance through the wall? Our old stomping grounds?"

 **Afraid so. I don't know about you, but I sure wouldn't want to get caught in that maze again.**

"I don't look forward to that either. Options?"

 **Hmm…keep to the right. There's a likely-looking breach in the wall a few kilometers ahead. I should warn you, there's likely going to be some climbing.**

"Better than running headlong into the Fallen," she said, and altered their course to Ghost's specifications. A little climbing was just what she was in the mood for. She had caught up to Zinnia, and the Warlock fell into formation beside her, following Ghost's directions. The great wall loomed up before them. They kept to its shadow. The sunlight was a warm, welcome relief to the biting cold. It also glinted off the Sparrows something fierce, a beacon to anyone who could be watching. Guardians, over here! Come and get it!

 **Up ahead, the breach!** Ghost chirped. Quarrel pulled back on the throttle, slowing the Sparrow to a quick glide next to a large, crumbling section of wall. At first she thought she had the wrong spot, but then she saw the beginnings of the breach some three meters above the ground. It wasn't huge, but it would be enough for them to squeeze through and scramble up to the top.

Quarrel drew to a halt and gave the area a quick glance over. No sense getting ambushed. She dismounted and checked her rifle. She had a feeling she was going to need it. The thought filled her with as much anticipation as dread. Zinnia clambered off her own Sparrow, straightening her vestments. A moment later, the purring vehicles dissolved, stowed safely back on the ship. Quarrel squared up to the wall and craned her neck to see the top.

Well, she had wanted a climb…

"We're going that way?" Zinnia asked doubtfully.

"Ghost says it's the quickest way in."

"Okay!" Whatever reservations she'd had disappeared in front of this new challenge. "This shouldn't be a problem!" she said with some cheer. She took a few steps back, sized up the gap above her, and sprinted forward. One jump sent her sailing into the air, arcing high over Quarrel's head. She glided easily, vestment tails streaming behind her, and landed with just a little slip onto a concrete ledge in the breach three times her height above the ground.

"Come on!" Zinnia urged.

A large hunk of concrete and twisted rebar lay before her. Quarrel stepped up onto it, and reached for the next handhold. At first, the climb was not so bad. Hand over hand, like climbing a ladder. Large sections of crossbeams and struts made convenient grips for her to help herself up. Nearer the top, however, the gap in the wall grew wider and the handholds became scarce.

"Use your Light!" Zinnia called, leaping up the sections above her. "It's so much easier than climbing!"

"I don't know how!" she puffed, reaching for the next ledge. In places, the inside of the wall was hollow. Six meters up, she found one of these hollows and pulled herself into it to catch her breath. The wind was whipping something fierce now. Crouched on a shelf of concrete, she glanced down at the ground below. The height was dizzying. She glanced up. There was another likely-looking shelf just opposite her and at maybe twice her height. There was nothing readily available for her to climb up to it. She shuffled toward the edge of her shelter.

"You can do it!" Zinnia urged, peeking over another ledge farther up. "Don't think about it, just jump! When you feel yourself start to fall, just jump again!"

Jump again? In mid-air?

"Can you catch me if I fall?" Quarrel asked Ghost. It was mostly a joke, but she thought it would be nice if he could answer yes.

 **Afraid not** , Ghost clicked. **But I'll stand by for a Revive, if that makes you feel any better.**

"A lot," she chuckled nervously. "Just use my Light, huh?"

 **You did it before when you were trying to escape the Captain** , Ghost said. She considered that. She remembered being surprised at how high she was able to jump, how effortless it seemed. Could she do it again? There was nothing else but to try.

"Okay," she said. She took a deep breath and let out a long exhale.

"Three, two —"

"You can do it!" Zinnia cried. Quarrel flinched. A metal strut groaned in the wind. She waved at Zinnia and gathered her thoughts.

 _Three…two…!_

She sprang upwards, uncoiling in one fluid motion, pushing as hard as she could against the concrete and straining for the ledge above. A good jump, but nowhere near the height needed for reaching the edge. Zinnia's words about feeling the downward arc echoed in her head. But she was nervous, and not wanting to test poor Ghost's Revival abilities so soon, she concentrated her Light early. The extra, inexplicable burst in mid-air came, much to her shocked relief. Her muscles exploded with a profound energy, the very air around her cracked like a whip with the impossibility of what she had done. The ledge lurched closer — but not close enough! Panicked, she shot a hand out and scrambled for a grip. She gasped, and gasped again when her hand actually caught the edge and her fall was stopped. She clapped her other hand to the concrete lip, straining to hold on.

"Oh, hell!" she breathed. Her feet dangled in thin air above a snarl of jagged metal. That would not feel good to fall onto.

 **Oh, thank the Light!** Ghost sighed. **Um…can you maybe get your foot up there?**

"Working on it!" she grunted. She braced herself and kicked a leg up. The tip of her boot scraped the underside of the ledge.

 **Try again!** Ghost urged.

She had half a mind to tell him to shut up. Of course she was going to try again! She just needed some peace to concentrate!

"Hey, you okay?" Zinnia called from above. "Where are you? I can't see you!"

She took another deep breath and imagined the Light lifting her foot while she kicked. Maybe it really worked, or maybe it was just the imagery, but this time her ankle hooked around the top of the ledge. She groaned, pulling herself up inch by excruciating inch, convinced she was going to fall at any moment. It had to be the most awkward, ungraceful ascent of any Guardian in history. Her arms shook. She wasn't going to make it! She was ready to cry out to Ghost to prepare himself…

With a final heave she rolled onto the ledge. She lay on her stomach, panting for breath.

"Don't…tell anyone…about that!" she gasped.

 **I won't. Especially not the Hunters.**

"Thanks!" she wheezed. She let her head rest on the concrete a moment. That had been too close!

 **Good work!** Ghost chirped. She smiled. Sometimes his cheerleading wasn't so bad.

 **It's just a suggestion, but try to get a** ** _little_** **bit closer next time.**

Maybe she could still take that back.

"Hey! You didn't fall, did you?" Zinnia cried.

"I'm here!" she called up to the Warlock. "I'm okay!"

As tempting as it sounded, she couldn't lay around on that ledge all day. She was beginning to think rushing through any surprise enclaves of Fallen would be preferable to this. Reluctantly, she got to her feet. The shelf extended far enough out from the broken edge of the wall that she could stand to her full height. The next spot to climb to was just out of arm's reach. She would have to use her Light again.

Well, no time like the present.

The jumps got a little better each time. The next few gaps weren't as far as the first one had been, but soon another wall-spanning jump presented itself. This time she waited for that almost-too-late feeling before calling upon her Light. It was all she could do not to panic while flying through the air, her stomach flipping somersaults as she crossed the void. No one was more surprised than she when she landed quite gracefully on the other side.

 **Well done!** Ghost cheered. She wondered if he felt more pride than surprise. She decided she had better leave well enough alone.

"Nice one!" Zinnia said, just over her head. The Warlock stood on the very top of the wall, looking down the gap. She didn't seem to care that she was out in the open. This close to the warren of Fallen nests in the Cosmodrome, it was much more likely that Ghost's dire warnings of sniper bullets would prove true.

Quarrel was sweating beneath the helm, drops sliding into her eyes and down her cheeks. The clouds over the mountains were getting darker. She should be glad to be sweating. There was definitely snow on the way. A part of her hoped to be safe and warm in the Tower by nightfall. Another part of her wondered at seeing the stars in an open night sky, away from City lights.

At long last, she reached the top of the wall. She and Zinnia sat on the wide surface while she caught her breath. The wall was a truly massive feat of engineering. She remembered running within it, lost in a maze of access tunnels and storage rooms. The top was wide enough that City trucks could easily drive side by side down its length. The Cosmodrome must have been terribly important in the Golden Age to have such security measures. The complex within spread out below them, choked with rubble and the carcasses of long-dead flying machines.

 **I'm not picking up any Fallen signatures near here** , Ghost said. **That's pretty unusual for territory they've claimed as their own.**

"Maybe they went to investigate the Tombship," Zinnia offered.

 **Maybe. They'd better be careful — the Hive won't take kindly to them. On second thought, I hope they aren't careful at all!**

Quarrel grinned. Ghost could be surprisingly vindictive.

"What are the Hive, anyway?" she asked.

"Something awful!" Zinnia said. Despite her assertion, she had an unmistakably excited tone to her voice. "Shenu says they're an ancient race, creeping across the universe to devour all Light!"

 **They have been on the moon for centuries in a kind of uneasy stalemate** , Ghost added. **Reports started coming in a few years ago that Seeders were starting to crop up on Earth, but we thought the infestation was contained. It is really, really, hard for me to overstate how bad it would be if they are spreading out!**

"Have you fought them before?" Quarrel asked.

"I've never even seen the Hive except for some stuff in the Archives," Zinnia said. "But Shenu has fought them on Luna!"

 **I tried to stay as far away from the moon as possible in my search for you, even before the Vanguard restricted entry** , Ghost said. **In fact, I was beginning to worry that's where you were! Thanks for not being there!**

"No problem."

 **The Hive shouldn't be moving about on Earth at all as just a single Tombship** , Perdita spoke up through her comms. **There's never just one Hive. I hope there isn't a Seeder nearby!**

"We'd better find out," Zinnia said.

"Sounds like information the Vanguard could use," Quarrel agreed.

 **We're way over our heads in this** , Ghost buzzed. **If the Hive spot us, we run!**

 **That would be wise** , Perdita clicked.

"First, we have to get down from here!" Zinnia said.

They stood and walked around the gap to the Cosmodrome side of the wall.

 **If Cayde's old maps are to be believed, we're near what he called the Mothyards** , Ghost said. **So named for all the retired Golden Age aircraft**. The land inside the wall was crammed with broken airship husks, their long wings and tails waving in the cold wind. A deep moat gathered at the foot of the wall, a finger of the nearby shallow sea reaching in to the complex. They would have to find a way across that, too.

The split they had climbed offered cracks on this side of the wall, but it was not going to be any easier going down than it had been going up. Or so she thought.

"See you at the bottom!" Zinnia said, and stepped off the edge. Quarrel couldn't restrain a strangled cry. She watched, frozen in shock, as Zinnia plummeted. At the last moment she suddenly slowed, her fall smoothing into a gentle glide to touch the ground, light as a feather. Zinnia waved up at her.

"Sure would be nice to float around like that," Quarrel grumbled.

 **They'll teach you all about it if you join the Warlocks** , Ghost said.

"Sure will!" Zinnia chimed in.

"That doesn't help me now!"

 **No, I suppose not. Just, um, don't look down?**

Quarrel eased herself over the lip of the wall.

"It's not the height I'm worried about," she grunted, wincing as her boot slipped before finding purchase on a crossbeam. "It's the fall. The ground looks pretty hard despite all that snow."

 **You are indeed high enough to reach critical injury with a fall** , Ghost affirmed.

"Thanks for that!" she sighed.

There was no way she was going to push her luck and try what Zinnia had just done. So she started the long climb down, feeling awkward and increasingly annoyed. Dane would have a field day if he could see this. He and his fireteam could probably scale this wall all day long. She had seen incredible aerial acrobatics from all three of them during the skirmish. At long last she was able to release her grip from a ledge and land on solid ground, boots crunching into the snow piled up in the wall's shadow. She knuckled her back and sighed. Zinnia was sitting cross-legged against the wall's metal plating, looking out toward the Mothyards.

"Next time, I'll just cut a path through the Fallen," Quarrel grimaced.

 **I think I agree** , Ghost said. **I don't know who was more nervous there — me or you!**

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" Had he not been at Rest, she would have tweaked his fins. Zinnia cackled.

A groaning creak nearby cut off her mirth. Quarrel snapped to attention, rifle at the ready. Zinnia had her hand cannon drawn, aiming toward the sound. The creak sounded again, meandering over the water. Just an aircraft wing bending in the wind. Quarrel sighed and lowered her rifle.

"Getting jumpy," she murmured.

"Better than getting shot," Zinnia said. "Let's go."

It took some time to find a way to ford the inlet. They stood at the top of a narrow canyon and had to pick their way down its steep side to reach the water's edge. From there, they debated the best way to get across, finally agreeing to hike to the west for about a kilometer where a piece of ancient aircraft wreckage lay half submerged, acting as a sort of bridge. Quarrel tested her jump onto the rusting metal and her boots promptly skidded out from under her. The surface was slick with ice and seawater. She scrambled for a handhold before she fell into the freezing depths. Zinnia stumbled too, and Quarrel caught her hand. Carefully they eased across the debris until they could jump again. Zinnia made it easily to the far shore. Quarrel splashed down in water up to her knees, landing in rocky sand. Her fieldsuit was tougher than she'd thought. The water was unpleasantly cold, but she stayed dry enough.

Climbing up the opposite canyon face felt like a cinch compared to the Cosmodrome wall. Thick, gnarled bushes and rocky outcroppings gave suitable hand and footholds for the climb. Quarrel went first, placing each foot as light as she could, scanning right and left for anything out of the ordinary, any twitch of movement or hiss of breath. Any baleful, green eyes in the shadows.

Zinnia was in an ecstasy as they crossed the wide-open field, passing through the gutted airship bodies. The Warlock scrambled in the debris, looking for anything to cram into her satchel. Quarrel could understand her enthusiasm to a point, but she was starting to worry. They needed to get going. It was bad enough they were chasing this strange Hive. If the Fallen caught them…

Ghost pointed them toward a building he named the Skywatch, sitting on a bluff over the Mothyards.

 **That's where the Tombship stopped** , he said, hushed with the same awe she felt as they gazed up at the dark building. Huge satellite arrays sat on its roof, pointed toward the vast sky. Another crumbling road led the way up. They opted to go on foot, not wanting to draw attention with their sparrows.

They stopped again in a sort of courtyard outside the entrance to the Skywatch.

 **I'm still not picking up any signatures, Fallen or otherwise** , Ghost clicked. Just local wildlife. He still spoke quietly, as though afraid anyone but she and Zinnia could hear him.

 **Neither am I** , Perdita said.

"Maybe the Hive didn't land," Quarrel suggested.

 **Hive don't land from Tombships** , Perdita said. **They use a process similar to our transmat.**

"You think they're in there?" Zinnia whispered. For once, she didn't sound too excited.

"Only one way to find out."

They made for a large bay door long since removed, the hole leading into blackness. Quarrel stepped across the threshold. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Uncomfortable reminders of her first day.

She gripped her rifle and kept moving. Zinnia held her hand cannon at her shoulder, sticking close behind. The light from the doorway quickly dropped off, leaving them in a gloom that even her helm's visor couldn't brighten enough for her liking. It was pierced now and again by those orange Fallen rods, burning low and casting feeble light.

 **They haven't been by to replace these in some time** , Ghost chirped, once again seeming to read her thoughts. **I wouldn't expect them to give up on this area so soon. Unless something else is keeping them occupied…** he didn't finish the sentence, but she could sense the unspoken foreboding. If these Hive were as big of a threat as Ghost implied, then maybe even the Fallen would be gathering to fight them off. Now there were some unlikely allies! She didn't suppose she could convince them to hold off on shooting at her until they could be certain the Hive were gone!

They traveled through the building with little trouble. When the gloom became too thick, Ghost and Perdita chanced coming out of Rest and provided some of their own illumination. Quarrel eyed Ghost nervously, not wanting him to get too far ahead of her. What had he said? That the Hive devoured Light? Well, Ghost was a creature of Light. Light and machinery, he had proclaimed. And an attitude, she thought, though she wouldn't tell him that.

 **Fallen, just ahead!** Perdita clicked.

 **Two Dreg signatures!** Ghost added.

Quarrel's skin tingled. She peered around the corner of the hall. The room ahead of them had a bit of light coming through, blue and wan. She did not see anything moving in the deep shadows. She did not see the telltale four eyes. She pulled back around the corner and signaled to zinnia her intention to clear the room. There was no going forward if they didn't. Ghost spun his fins anxiously and then went to Rest. Perdita followed suit. Quarrel took a deep breath.

She pulled away from the wall and ducked down the corridor into the room, staying low, rifle up and at the ready. Her breath sounded too loud in her ears. A few paces behind, Zinnia crept after her.

There they were. Two Dregs, backs to the Guardians, squatting in the shadows next to ancient machinery. The blue lighting they had rigged to work once more cast a cold glow over their tattered armor. One of them was scratching in the dirt with the tip of a clawed finger. The other was murmuring softly under its breath in their strange, guttural language. They were not so big as she remembered them.

The one drawing had a shock pistol at its hip. The other had a knife in its belt. Quarrel aimed down the rifle sights. Just like the plates on your counter, she thought, wishing she actually believed that. Her hands were soaked with sweat beneath her gauntlets. Just like the targets at the gun range…

The Fallen who was drawing looked quickly to its right toward a large metal door that had been pulled down from the ceiling. Its four eyes blinked independently of each other, watching that door intently. It shuffled and growled. Then it looked back at its companion.

Two bursts of Quarrel's rifle split the silence. The Dreg who had looked aside shrieked and fell face down into the dirty concrete and lay still. The other Fallen howled as it died, the gases escaping its throat and its corpse falling near the other. The silence resumed even heavier than before. Quarrel would bet that gunfire had been heard for some distance. But by whom? More Fallen, or these Hive?

They stepped into the room and checked the bodies, nudging them with their toes to be sure they were dead. It seemed wrong to have taken the Fallen so quickly, without any chance to defend themselves. Then again, they had never shown _her_ that mercy.

The Dreg with the dagger had managed to draw it before dying. Quarrel stooped and picked it up. A close examination showed her a little switch on the hilt that, once depressed, made the blade hum and sizzle with an electric charge. She slipped the dagger into her belt. Just a little something in case anyone got up close and personal. She didn't fancy a full-on fistfight. Perhaps she could already rule out the Order of Titans? Zinnia said they liked to punch things. Or maybe it was just common sense not to fistfight four-armed opponents. What about these Hive? She hoped they didn't have more than four arms. Maybe they had none. Maybe they had something she should fear a whole lot more.

 **We're clear** , Ghost said. **Where to?**

 **That door** , Perdita clicked. **Let's check it out!**

Quarrel held out her hand. Ghost appeared and flitted to a little blinking keypad on the wall beside the metal door. Perdita followed him. The two Ghosts clicked and chirped curiously over the mechanism.

 **The Fallen sealed that door with their own locking protocol** , Ghost said. **They really didn't want anyone getting in.**

 **Or getting out?** Perdita trilled. The Ghosts sent scans over the keypad, fins spinning with excitement. Quarrel watched the shadows, straining to see back down the hallway they had come from. So far there was only one point of egress. That didn't sit too well with her now that they had announced their presence. Zinnia rummaged through the Dregs' armor. She stuffed a shock pistol and a handful of curious metal squares into her satchel.

"Ether seeds," she explained. "Master Rahool likes to study them, and they fetch a good price in the City!"

 **I can get this open** , Ghost announced, sounding quite proud. He really was excited to help, despite his earlier reluctance about whether this impromptu mission was a good idea or not. He chirped and clicked as he worked, murmuring things she didn't understand. Quarrel checked her rifle, brushed the hilt of the shock dagger with her fingertips, moved from foot to foot. She wanted to run again. She wanted to disappear into the shadows. She felt too exposed, too vulnerable, waiting here with Zinnia and the Ghosts.

 **Got it!** Perdita cheered. The keypad emitted a series of beeps. The door lurched upwards. There was nothing quiet about its progress. It groaned and squeaked enough to make even Zinnia wince. If anyone around hadn't heard the gunfire, they certainly had to have heard this! Even the Ghosts looked a little put out. Perdita had a distinctly apologetic cast to her fins.

Quarrel and Zinnia peered through, side by side, the Ghosts casting light into the shadows. They needn't have bothered. A bizarre, iron lantern cast a sickly green glow into a narrow stairwell leading up. Quarrel touched one of the carved edges. It felt sharp enough to cut. A heavy, hooked chain snaked behind it.

At first she thought soil and debris had filled the staircase beyond the big door. Mounds of black crust covered the floor, ceiling, and walls. Upon closer inspection, she saw it wasn't dirt at all. It wasn't broken machinery or bits of garbage, either. It was…what was it? It resembled nothing so much as an old, black scab. The Ghosts hovered over the mass, sending out tendrils of Light. Wherever the filaments touched, the scab emanated a puff of oily black mist.

 **What is this stuff?** Ghost was just as puzzled as she was. He didn't like that he didn't know. She didn't like that either. Ghost always had an answer for everything!

 **Brood nectar?** Perdita guessed, sounding just as uneasy.

Quarrel gestured up the stairs. Ghost twitched his fins in agreement and drew close, shining his light on the metal treads. Carefully, quietly, they began to climb. The scabs continued up the stairs in thick bundles. She fancied she could hear them making some kind of noise — no, she really could! What was that awful sound they were making? Like dozens of greedy, sucking mouths.

 **Detecting signatures up ahead** , Ghost trilled. **Lots of them. Oh, I have a bad feeling about this…!**

The claw dug into her throat. She glanced over her shoulder. Zinnia nodded back at her. Together, they peered around the corner at the top of the landing.

There was nothing but blackness. Absolute darkness that only Ghost and Perdita's tiny shell lights pierced. Quarrel took a tentative step forward. Something chittered. She immediately aimed to the direction of the noise, just as Ghost turned. A wicked shriek broke the tense silence. A rush of bodies clawed at the swath of light cast on the floor.

 **The Hive!** Ghost yelped. Instinctively, Quarrel reached for him. Her gauntlets brushed his fins as he sought her. A moment later, he was at Rest. A moment after that, they were swarmed.


	17. Play the Game

_Cousin,_

 _I'm afraid I have nothing new to report. Lest you accuse me of writing merely to say I told you so, I will tell you that I have set additional resources to the task. Don't get your hopes up. We've got our hands full here, and none of us have been near Venus in some time. If anyone has been, they certainly haven't been informing the Cryptarchy._

 _As for your Vex gate theory, I simply haven't the time nor the space on this letter to even begin to tell you what is wrong with it. Suffice it to say that I highly doubt you're on the right track. It was a nice thought, however. Please tell me it was a theory cooked up by one of your eager Novices. What they lack in logic they certainly make up for in imagination._

 _The High Cryptarchs are watching my division much more closely lately. I may not be able to correspond for some time. Now I will say it: I told you so._

 _Be well,_

 _I._

Rahool finished reading the letter and sniffled, clapping his handkerchief to his nose before it could drip onto the datapad in his hand. The Light burn away this blasted cold! He couldn't deny it anymore, he was definitely ill. He sighed and archived the correspondence into his private storage, under the most secure encryption, then shut the datapad off with a scowl.

While it was at it, the Light could burn away Master Ives too! He could just hear the smugness dripping from that short letter, could see the self-satisfied smile on the man's face. He hadn't seen his cousin in at least thirty years, and the now Master of the Pallas cluster had only been a boy of ten at the time. But even at ten years old he had been an insufferable little know-it-all. Novices with imagination, indeed! That had been his theory, and Ives damn well knew it! He just couldn't resist sending out a backhanded insult whenever he could. Not even his hailing of "cousin" was anything more than a cold formality. The man still wouldn't ever admit that they were related. The shame of it probably still hung over him to this day. Good. He hoped it needled Ives every Light-blessed hour!

Rahool sat back in his wooden chair and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The little clock on his study desk ticked softly. Blast it all, it was already well past evening! Where had the day gone to? He felt like he had just sat down to his afternoon studies only a few minutes ago. The reading hadn't been the most fascinating he'd ever encountered, but it was good, meaty stuff that required his concentration. Only the datapad chiming that a new correspondence had arrived had pulled him away.

There was no more time for reading now. He needed to get ready for the Consensus meeting, called away from its usual daytime session on account of a foundry holiday the next morning. He slipped a long gold ribbon bookmark into place and closed the heavy book he'd been tackling. He was quite sure that all the files he needed for the meeting were already stored on the shelf behind him, or on one of his datapads. However, there were still a few reports to be gathered from the other Cryptarchs.

He stood from his chair and winced at a pain in his back. That at least didn't feel like he had just sat down. Praise the Light, that chair was getting harder and harder every year. What kind of sadistic idea of his had it been to choose that blasted thing? He really ought to just get rid of it. Yet every time he entertained the notion, the words of his father echoed in his mind. _Don't get too comfortable studying, or you'll wind up daydreaming instead._

Rahool shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. If only it were that simple! Surely a little cushion couldn't hurt. Just a small one, for long reading sessions.

Gathering his materials for the meeting was punctuated by a few violent sneezes into his handkerchief. The Darkness take these illnesses! He would wear through the cloth at this rate! He'd known he was in for it when Jorin had come in sniffling last week. Every cold and flu in the City seemed to seek him out as soon as he had something important to do. At least he didn't get sick as often as his first year in the City, when he'd caught what felt like every disease known to science — and a few unknown! He took one last glance around the study, running through a mental checklist to ensure he hadn't forgotten anything, then straightened his cowl and opened the door.

Ebla sat right in the doorway. The enormous orange cat looked up and trilled expectantly.

"What do you want?" Rahool demanded. "I haven't got anything for you!"

Ebla meowed, loud and insistent.

"Hasn't Zinnia given you your dinner yet?" he sighed, then remembered that she hadn't been in all day. Blessed Light, he was so used to her taking care of the cat — spoiling him, really! — that he hadn't bothered with it himself in weeks!

"Where is that girl, anyways?" he grumbled, beginning to walk down the hall. Ebla stood up and trotted after him with surprising speed for his considerable size. Ebla had always been a hefty creature, but Rahool was certain he had put on a few more pounds since Zinnia's arrival in the Archives.

"Fortunately for you, I have just enough time to get your meal. I don't suppose you could fetch my reports for me, hmm?"

Ebla meowed again, trying to butt his head against Rahool's ankles as he walked. It made for a rather difficult trip, adding to constantly having to reshuffle the load in his arms in order to wipe his running nose. He would have to make a detour to Zinnia's desk. She kept all the cat food with her now. Of all her Archive duties, this was the one she took the most seriously! For that, Ebla adored her, and she it. Well, let them have each other, and leave him out of it!

The Archives were quiet this time of night. Only a few Novices roamed about, their arms laden with books and artifacts. Others hunched over carrels frowning at texts and scratching notes as they studied for their exams. He was greeted with prompt "good evenings" and "Master" as he passed. A few gazes lingered on him quizzically. He knew he must look a sight. He always looked awful when he was sick. He supposed he might still be scowling from Ives' letter, too. Well, he was ill and annoyed! He didn't feel like pretending to be in a good mood! If it made the Novices scatter, so be it.

Katilyn and Adept Dudley were on duty for the night. Katilyn was likely holed up with the old Ukrainian couple called up to the Tower for translation, and Dudley would be working away at his thesis — if he wasn't sneaking a vidscreen feed onto his datapad again. He could pass off Ebla's feeding to one of them, but it would really take more time than just opening the blasted can himself. So Rahool stalked through the corridors until he arrived in the Archive quarter where Zinnia kept her belongings, nestled between the last two shelves in the grand chamber. Ebla scrambled ahead, recognizing the desk.

Zinnia's desk was, predictably, a complete mess. He had to set his armload of folders and files onto her chair due to lack of space on the desktop. And before he could do that, he had to clear away a nice assortment of pillows piled up so thick there was hardly room to actually sit. He sighed and shook his head at the scattered papers, the books left hanging open, the complete lack of any discernible form of organization. Blessed Light, were those candy wrappers on that hardbound edition of _Dinah's Memoirs_? That was only the sole surviving copy of the text!

It took some considerable poking around to find the cat food. Ebla didn't make the task any easier by jumping up onto the cluttered desk and rubbing his head against Rahool's hands, purring and drooling. Each desk drawer he opened only produced a baffling array of objects the little Warlock had hoarded. He cursed irritably under his breath, pushing aside some old City magazines at the bottom of the deepest drawer. One of them had Denish Alton on the cover, dressed for his role as "head Cryptarch" on that ridiculous vidscreen drama. Zinnia absolutely loved that show. She drank it in like water. What's worse, she had gotten Katilyn, Riva, and Jorin watching that drivel too! He considered throwing that magazine out. Likely, Zinnia wouldn't even remember she'd had it under all the mess.

He suppressed the urge and stood up, hands on his hips, sniffing back another drip. Where in the Light did she keep the cat food? Surely they weren't out already? If Zinnia had been feeding Ebla extra rations, he'd have to have a talk with her. Ebla could not put the food away without consequence like she could. Blessed Light, nobody could eat like Zinnia and hope to keep their figure! Whatever the twist of Light was that Perdita had performed upon Zinnia's resurrection allowed the girl to eat like a starved Titan and still be a tiny bit of fluff. Such a trait was unique to the Warlock herself. The Traveler only knew it certainly didn't apply to him. He frowned, remembering the tightness of his belt that morning.

Rahool was about to give up and set the task to Katilyn or Dudley when he spied the cans stacked neatly next to a little potted flower on the windowsill. He snatched one of the cans up and began an equally frustrating search for the can opener, pushing aside strands of beads and little origami figures and a bevy of framed pictures — one looked suspiciously like Shaxx — and finally found it nestled between a bottle of shockingly orange nail polish and a yellowed crow's skull. Ebla would hardly let him alone to open the can, meowing and twisting about his arm, and he could feel another round of sneezes coming on.

"There! Eat the lot of it and leave me in peace, you dreadful thing!" He plopped the open can down on a report from Zavala that was covered in doodles. Ebla ceased yowling and crammed his face into the tin, gobbling the foul smelling slop inside like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Rahool promptly turned and sneezed into his sleeve, unable to get to his handkerchief in time. It was just as well. The square of embroidered blue cloth was getting quite used. When he was sure he was done sneezing, he picked up his armload of documents from the chair and left Ebla alone to his feast. He would definitely have to remind Zinnia to clean up her work station once in a while. And for the love of the Light, to stop using books as plates!

The next stop he had to make was at Riva's desk. He smiled in satisfaction at her decidedly cleaner workstation. Riva wasn't quite as orderly as her wife, but she had a sensible, straightforward system that made the reports he was seeking easy to find. They sat waiting for him in a little box on the top corner of her desk. He slipped those into his folder and hurried off to the Archive's front door.

Katilyn intercepted him upon approach to the atrium. He saw at once the tight frown on her brow, directed right his way. Blast it all. He knew what was coming.

"Didn't I tell you to go home and get some rest?" she demanded, marching to his side.

"Many times," he sniffed. His ill temper would not rattle the likes of Katilyn, however. She crossed her arms and stared at him in the very manner she used while lecturing Novices. Now he was in for it. The Darkness take him, why hadn't he just left out the back door?

"You need to take care of yourself, Rahool! You're working too hard lately. How in the Light are you supposed to get better when you're exhausted?"

"I am attending the Consensus meeting," he tried to protest. She was having none of it.

"The Consensus can get by without you for one night! Why don't you send Dudley along to make your reports? Hell, I'll take over if that's what you need!"

"I'd rather do it myself."

She eyed him critically. "You won't rather when you catch pneumonia or the like!"

"It's just a little cold, Katilyn!" he sighed. "For Light's sake, Jorin had the same thing. He's already on the mend."

"Because I sent Jorin home. I will do the same for you!" Katilyn threatened. The Light help him, he knew her well enough by now to know that she could make good on that threat — one way or another.

"I swear I'll go straight to bed after the meeting," he tried to assure her. "Believe me, nothing sounds finer."

She continued to glare at him, blue eyes narrowed, her rouged lips pursed.

"Fine," she said. "Be a Dark-blind fool about it. But I had better not see you in here until _at least_ after noon tomorrow!"

Blessed Light! Now she was scheduling him? He readied a comeback, saw her dangerously arched brow, and bit it back.

"We'll see," he muttered, deciding to pick his battles.

"Take some of that tea I gave you," she said. It was an order, not a request. Jana herself could not have sounded more official. "And another cup in the morning."

"Yes, yes," he sighed. He grabbed the handle of the Archive door like a lifeline. Katilyn put her hands on her hips and scowled until the door swung shut behind him. The Light help him, he had a Primarch in the making on his hands, as sure as the stars!

He stepped off the broad stoop and straight into Riva. She had her cowl wrapped closely around her hair and a couple of takeout containers in hand.

"Master Rahool! You're still up?"

"I'm on my way out," he hedged. Riva was not scowling like Katilyn. That did not mean he was off the hook. The two shared the same mind when it came to his affairs, and even though Riva tended to have a sympathetic smile where her wife would frown, it still meant he was in for an earful.

"Oh, you're not stuck in the Consensus meeting tonight, are you? Why don't you let one of us handle it so you can rest?"

"Ah, thank you. That's not necessary. It will only be a moment," he lied, brushing past her before she could argue further. Riva knew as well as he did that Consensus meetings never lasted just a "moment".

"The Light keep you," he said, fighting back a sniffle.

"At least take some of that tea Katilyn gave you!" she called after him as he hurried away.

His back safely turned, Rahool made a face. One more sip of that so-called tea and he'd throw his entire heirloom set off the Tower! Katilyn and Riva might swear by fever tea, but the concoction was positively foul! Choking down that cup Katilyn had made for him earlier in the day had made him consider throwing _himself_ off the Tower!

The late winter nights were still cold enough to make him pull his cowl closer around his face and be glad for his warm winter robes. He thought longingly of a hot pot of tea — _good_ tea, a nice Western Green, perhaps — and a seat by the hearth with a good book. Such luxuries were a couple more hours away at least. First he had to get through this Consensus meeting.

The Tower lights cut through the night, casting cheerful warm pools onto the flagstones and illuminating the banners strung proudly across walkways and draped in grand swaths down walls. He could catch glimpses of the City below, lit up brilliant as always, a glittering gem at the Tower's feet. It should have been an uplifting sight, but tonight he just felt exhausted. He didn't suppose he could beg out of this meeting. No, no…it would only create more headaches tomorrow. Best to grit his teeth and get it over with.

Rahool did his best to remain civil at the occasional greeting from passerby while his mind was still on the upcoming meeting and that infuriating Ives. What did he mean he didn't have the time nor the space to pick apart his theory? It was a damned good one! He'd been working on it for months now, ever since Zinnia had posed that one innocent question that had lit a flame under all his previous work on the Vault. Ives was just miffed that it hadn't been his idea. That stuffy, arrogant little twerp probably wanted to run off to the High Cryptarchs as fast as he could to tell them all about it and wait for a pat on the head. But since it was _Rahool's_ theory, he couldn't say one blessed word about it! Ha! That was some revenge, at least.

All he needed tonight was for Zinnia to come around the corner and start badgering him. If Katilyn was tenacious about her meddling in his wellbeing, the little Warlock would be absolutely insufferable! He had thought he would have no choice but to throw her out of the Archives by her vestment collar to keep her from summoning Jana yesterday! Thank the Light she'd had a task before her that he could set her to instead. If she hadn't, he was sure he would have been sitting on the exam table in the clinic within minutes. The Darkness take him, he really needed to grow a backbone around that girl! What was it about her that made him so turned around? Katilyn and Riva he could deal with. They were at least reasonable!

Where _was_ Zinnia? She hadn't been in for morning duty, now that he thought of it. Occasionally, Shenu commandeered her from the Archives for his own tutelage, but it was a rare thing not to have her dropping by at all hours. If only she would drop by to do her actual work!

The Consensus hall was only a short ways from the Archives, further back in the North Tower. Rahool could see a few figures heading up the broad stairs and inside, light spilling out the carved doors. A gust of wind tugged a paper away from between two folders. He muttered a curse and chased it across the flagstones. If Riva had seen that, he would have never heard the end of it. She was always insisting he switch exclusively to datapads. That would be the day!

He slipped inside the warm foyer, felt another sneeze coming on, fumbled for his handkerchief, and turned his head…

…to sneeze right on Ikora Rey. Blessed Light of a thousand burning galaxies!

The Warlock Vanguard took it in stride, merely raising an eyebrow in her normal, cool manner.

"The Light bless you, Cryptarch," she murmured, holding out her own handkerchief. He sheepishly waved it away, procuring his own. He didn't think she realized what kind of disgusting state she would get hers back in.

"Your pardon, Vanguard," he sniffled.

"How goes it in the Cryptarchy? I see the Archives haven't burned down yet. Hopefully that means Zinnia is keeping to her duties." She smiled at her own joke.

"Ah. Quite." If anyone else understood the handful that Zinnia was, it would be Ikora Rey. He tried a laugh, but he was unfortunately quite out of humor tonight. He tried to surreptitiously sniff to forestall the drip in his nose. Ikora's glance was piercing.

"Are you ill, Cryptarch?"

"I'm quite all right," he assured her. "Just a little cold."

"You ought to be resting." she admonished.

"Duty calls," he said, blowing his nose before the drip could get any worse. How in the Light could his nose be so runny, but at the same time so stuffed he could hardly breathe? His sinuses felt like a jumpship was trying to transmat into his skull. "Besides, it's not like I'm going to stand guard on the Wall."

"Hmm. Going to be stubborn about it? At least get some hot soup from the kitchens tonight. Have you tried the fever tea? It's good for your constitution."

Someday he would find out for certain whether there really was a Tower-wide conspiracy to meddle in his affairs. And, the Traveler save him, he was sure he'd find Zinnia right at the thick of it! Running the whole blasted show!

"Thank you, Vanguard," he sniffed. "I will keep that in mind." Ikora nodded and glided away to take a seat in the adjoining room.

If he left now, at least she would understand. It wasn't too late…

No. Guardians endured far more than a little cold to do their duty. He could show them that he would not be sidelined by a few germs. Besides, Shenu might show up tonight. That man was looking for any excuse to take the Vault project out of the Cryptarchy's hands and officially into the Warlocks. If Rahool went home early, Shenu would just chalk it up as another point of reason about why he was "unfit" to take on such an endeavor. But, oh Light…the hearth and the novel were calling to him something fierce! Rahool drew himself up, sniffed once, squared his shoulders, adjusted his cowl, and strode into the meeting room with a purpose.

A good three-quarters of the Consensus were present already, some already seated, some chatting together in groups scattered about the large room. There was a pot of coffee on hand, and Commander Zavala was attending to it. The Light keep that Guardian. He was a level head and always anticipated what would be needed. Rahool chose a seat near the end of the long meeting table and set his belongings down, then made for the coffee pot.

Commander Zavala was just pouring himself a cup. He did a double take at Rahool's appearance.

"Rough day in the Archives?" he asked, low voice calm as always. "You look a bit under the weather."

"I feel under the weather," Rahool sighed. Zavala handed the cup to him and poured out another for himself.

"What in the Light did you come to the meeting for? We can get by while you rest for a night."

Rahool struggled to remain calm.

"No need to worry about me," he gritted out through what he hoped still looked like a kind smile. It was probably rather gruesome.

"Try a hot bath in salts. Titans swear by it."

"Of course," Rahool grunted.

Zavala sipped his coffee appraisingly. "Personally, I think a hot cup of —"

"If you're going to say fever tea, so help me I will strangle you with my bare hands!"

Zavala blinked at this outburst.

"I was going to say a nip of Tower Bastion in a nightcap cures all. Or at least, you stop caring about your troubles."

Rahool's scowl softened to something much closer to a genuine smile at the Commander's joke. That really didn't sound like a half-bad idea. Except that he'd likely meet a few raised eyebrows when he tried to purchase a bottle of said Tower Bastion.

"Ah. Yes. Well. Thank you, Commander," he said, taking a sip of the coffee. Now here was a drink he could get behind!

"I wouldn't wish that swill of a tea on anybody," Zavala said, shaking his head. "Not even the Fallen. Light, I think you could strip paint with that stuff!"

"Or fuel a few jumpships," Rahool added.

"Give that Bastion a try," Zavala said. "If anything, you'll sweat something fierce until the chill is gone from your bones."

"I'm afraid my coffee will have to remain just coffee tonight," Rahool said. "At least for the duration of this meeting."

"Ah, Light," Zavala sighed, glancing around the room. "Believe me, if I could get away with it, this wouldn't be just coffee."

They shared a chuckle. Zavala got a bad rap for being the most bureaucratic of the Vanguard leaders, but the truth was that he didn't enjoy the red tape anymore than someone like Cayde-6. Zavala was just the best at what he did. The Titan's no-nonsense approach and straightforward nature made for clear communication and an eye for seeing what needed to be done. His brilliant tactical experience helped delegate tasks effectively. Around the Tower, if you were the best at something, by the Light, you were going to be utilized — whether you wanted it or not. Blessed Light, the Tower had managed to suck him in for his work with engrams, and he had been actively trying to hide from it! Come to think of it, he had Zavala to thank for that.

One might call Zavala's current position karma for recruiting a reluctant Rahool, if one believed in such things. Even Cayde's leadership was reputed to be a joke gone wrong among the Hunters — penance perhaps for Cayde's legendary tomfoolery.

Then what had Zinnia been sent to punish him for?

"If you'll excuse me," Zavala said, looking to the doorway, "I've got some pre-meeting business to attend to." His icy blue gaze was fixed on Cayde-6. That was enough explanation for Rahool. The Hunter Vanguard was sidling into the room in his usual breezy manner. Rahool's struggles with Zinnia were mirrored in Zavala's constant headbutting with Cayde.

Rahool drifted back to his seat and began to organize his paperwork. The Light only knew if he would go over even half of the items he had on his agenda tonight, but it was good to be prepared. Whether or not he was going to be able to coherently talk about so much as the weather at this point was anyone's guess. Why did colds always come about when a person needed to put their best foot forward?

The meeting hall steadily filled up as each participant filtered in and took their seat. The Hakke foundry representatives arrived, looking as always a little out of place to be among Guardians. Tonight, they were looking windswept and chilled as well. The City folk kept to themselves, clustered together in a group at the table. They grew quiet when Lakshmi-2 glided by, and Lakshmi watched Arach Jalaal and Executor Hideo take their seats with all the quiet enigma of a sphinx. A smattering of senior Warlocks and Titans entered, and a lone Hunter. Warlocks outnumbered the other Orders by far in the Consensus, yet this didn't seem to concern the Titans and Hunters. Especially the Hunters. Most of them had no patience for any sort of meeting. They'd rather get stuck in a bear trap and gnaw their own leg off than be forced to sit at a table discussion. Cayde, who had just finished receiving what looked to be a very terse lecture from Zavala, looked like he might just gnaw his own leg off anyways. He and the other Hunter gravitated immediately to each other next to the coffee pot. Rahool would bet all the glimmer in his pockets that this sole Hunter had drawn a short straw to be here.

Lord Shaxx strode into the room, an imposing presence as always. He was unmasked, his horned helm under his arm, the rest of his ceremonial armor immaculate. The Foundry representatives perked up quite a bit at his arrival. Shaxx studiously ignored them. He ignored most of them, actually.

The meeting's appointed hour was drawing close, and everybody who had not yet seated themselves began to do so. There was one chair conspicuously empty at the head of the table. The Speaker would not be present tonight. It was a rare meeting of the Hall of the Consensus that the Speaker actually attended. Nobody ever remarked on it, at least not anymore. Rahool was rather glad that he wouldn't be there. That way he wouldn't make his first meeting with the Speaker in months one of him sneezing all over the revered Guardian. Still, his absence was always a disappointment. There was a way about the Speaker that bolstered the spirits of anyone he graced with his attention. Rahool could have used some of that bolstering right about now.

Zavala stood from the opposite end of the table and called the meeting to order. Idle conversation stopped immediately at the sound of his clear, strong voice. Lord Shaxx had sheer physical intimidation on his side, but Zavala had a way of speaking that demanded attention even over a comms system. Cayde and Ikora sat to either side of him, Ikora glancing over her own datapad notes and Cayde idly spinning a stylus in his dexterous fingers. The names of attendees were called for roll, each person or organization stating their presence. Of course, Rahool was in the middle of a sneeze when his name was called. The Hunter who had been speaking with Cayde was sitting on Rahool's left. He surreptitiously pulled his cloak over to his far shoulder.

One other seat was empty, where Guardian Shenu should have been. Rahool was rather surprised that the Warlock wasn't coming. The meeting minutes listed the Vault Project on the docket. Shenu had not missed an opportunity yet to discuss it. Ha! Discuss was putting it mildly. More like slowly and excruciatingly grilling the Cryptarchy on every minute detail. As if he were supervising the project and not Rahool! Well, perhaps they could get out all that much quicker tonight now that he wouldn't have to justify every Light-blessed decision to the man!

The meeting began with the Hakke representatives and their proposals for future contracts. Rahool listened with half an ear, in part because he was still getting his own thoughts together and in part because it bored him to listen to weapons talk. Jorin would be fascinated by it, but he'd never had the head for it himself. His limited experience with the foundries were decades ago and from quite a different perspective. Shaxx and Zavala spoke up the most. Both of the Titans had perfected the art of agreeing without ever appearing to acknowledge each other. Their long-held frosty tolerance was well known even to the representatives. Cayde-6 looked as though he were considering shoving the stylus through his orbital socket. Ikora sat, calmly listening, inscrutable as always.

Just as the representatives were wrapping up, Shenu entered the meeting hall. He did not cringe nor look embarrassed in the least, just gave a small, stiff bow and made his way to his seat next to Ikora Rey. Rahool's heart sank. Light, he would have to steel himself for a debate after all. Ushabti hovered at the Warlock's shoulder, yet when Shenu sat, the spiny blue Ghost disappeared to Rest. Ushabti rarely hung about. Rahool wasn't ever sure if that was because of the Ghost's peculiarly shy nature or because Shenu didn't allow it. He rather suspected the latter. There had long been whispers that Shenu was very strict with his Ghost. Zinnia intimated as much, though Zinnia was likely to think that everybody was overly strict about everything. Rahool would approve of her appointment to the senior Warlock, except that Shenu gave him the creeps something fierce. The Warlock Mentor's legendary discipline and concise logic were to be commended. But that was about all there was to be commended, in his opinion. The rest of the man's behavior was quite odious.

Rahool busied himself with his paperwork. Not that he was trying to avoid Shenu's gaze or anything. He had been flirting with the idea of excusing himself during the foundry talk, but Shenu's appearance had put the lid on that once and for all.

Zavala was called to speak about the mine incident. Rahool lifted his eyes from his paperwork for that, glancing around the table. The news was most unfortunate — Hakke's largest holding had been dealt a devastating blow, one that had cost many civilian lives. The worst disaster since Twilight Gap, they were calling it. Few events in City history could compare to that devastation. It spoke to the relative safety of the City that the far fewer casualties here were considered so bad.

The Hakke representatives listened in grim silence as their appeal to the Vanguard to wait for further assessments before canceling their unfulfillable contract was ultimately rejected. Zavala's expression was also grim as he announced there could be no more waiting.

"Perhaps the Crucible," one representative tried. "Lord Shaxx, would you be agreeable to a special event? If we could start fundraising — "

Shaxx held up a massive hand.

"There will be no special event," he said. "No fundraising. The Crucible cannot become home to the exchange of glimmer, no matter how important the cause." Shaxx's voice was calm, but the rumble brooked no argument. His dark eyes looked into each of the representatives' in turn. Rahool was glad he wasn't one of them right now! No one from Hakke looked inclined to argue and ask the Titan to explain himself.

"Contracts will be renegotiated in time," Commander Zavala said. "I am certain an agreement will be reached. Please understand that this decision is not a loss of our faith. We value Hakke's contributions, even as we must be realistic about our abilities during this shortfall. All of our resources are strained, now more than ever. The Tower cannot pay for what it does not receive. However, I am eager to begin talks in the coming days to see how we can help in other ways."

The Hakke representatives looked crestfallen. Hideo sat back, chewing on his bottom lip. Curiously, Shenu was watching the Executor closely.

The items on the docket were slowly but surely marked off one by one. At last, Zavala turned his attention to Rahool.

"The Cryptarchy has further findings to detail on our interests in Venus and the Vex. Master Rahool, if you please."

All eyes turned to him, some more interested than others. Shenu's dark gaze glittered. He had his hand on his chin, one finger pressed to his lips in thought. Already coming up with arguments, Rahool was sure.

Rahool cleared his throat and opened the top folder. It was blasted warm in the meeting hall now. He felt like he would sweat through his robes. Being the center of attention didn't help that any. It was all right to lecture to a packed auditorium — not that anyone ever packed his lectures! — but these meetings always felt something akin to those tenancy fights he used to get pulled into down in the Foundry district. Always scrambling to justify why the land shouldn't be yanked out from underneath the citizens' feet. Always fighting to maintain relevancy. Well, that was precisely what he was doing here. That hadn't changed in thirty years. He had foolishly thought it would, had even believed it was happening not too long ago. But these days…no, priorities were shifting again, and the Cryptarchy needed to stay one step ahead. He needed to present real, solid evidence of the Ishtar Collective's research and how it could benefit them all. He needed to make them understand why the Cryptarchy was the best suited to parse through that research and continue it. And he needed to give them something more tantalizing than long-lost Archives — although why only a handful would consider that tantalizing was enough to make him want to pull his own hair out in frustration!

Fortunately for him, for the Cryptarchy, tonight was the night he could safely report on a breakthrough. He watched expressions turn predictably glazed and distant as he went down his own docket of business — engram tallies, artifacts of note, long-term Archival projects. He was very displeased to find that, although the drip to his nose was calming down, the stuffiness was making his voice quite ridiculous. Nevertheless, when he took a sip of coffee and shuffled to the next page to begin reports on the Vault, he managed to grab attention again.

For one, Cayde-6 sat up a little straighter, the stylus going still in his fingers. Cayde glanced to Ikora, who was nodding slowly to herself, digesting the information. Of course, Ikora already knew most of what Rahool reported — she had been the one to inadvertently guide Zinnia to the discovery. The Foundry representatives looked puzzled as they gathered their belongings to leave. They did not need to stay present for the rest of the meeting and were eager to get back to their homes. Lakshmi was laser-focused on him. Hideo still sat chewing his lip. Jalaal looked worried, as though Rahool had confirmed something he had long feared. No doubt he was thinking about heavy resistance in making a mid-System shipyard around Venus. First from the possibility of Vex incursion, and secondly because the Vanguard were likely going to take a lot more interest from here on out. All planets in the System were priority to recover and claim, but a great legend like the Vault could get wheels spinning.

Shenu continued to stare, so much so that Rahool began to wonder if the Warlock was going into one of his infamous trances. How much did Zinnia share with her Mentor about what went on in the Archives? She knew that she was under some confidentiality due to her presence in the Cryptarchy, but he would be a fool to forbid her from any discussion at all with the senior Warlock. It had been sorely tempting to try to forbid it, to keep the discoveries within the Archive walls. But it was Zinnia's outside help that had moved them forward. And, blast it all, he'd get cooperation with the Vanguard one way or another! The thought gave him grim satisfaction. How fitting. Somewhere, he had learned to play the Tower's game.

When Rahool was finished with his report, Zavala leaned forward, resting his chin on his clasped hands.

"This is excellent news, Cryptarch. I'm certain there will be many questions in the days to come, and much opportunity for further study."

Shenu gave a soft snort. He looked unaware that he had done so, though he sat up straight and fixed Rahool with an imposing look. So much for a trance.

"Commander, do we know whether these discoveries have been verified by senior Guardians?"

The Darkness take that Warlock. Why in the Light couldn't Shenu just address the question directly to him?

Zavala's eyes flicked to Rahool. Permission to speak, as it were.

"They have been verified by all Cryptarchs on the project," Rahool spoke up. "My intention tonight was to bring the findings to the Vanguard so that Guardians might begin to be involved in greater numbers."

"I see," Shenu said softly. "That is good to hear. I understand that my pupil, Zinnia, has been a prime mover in these recent discoveries. She is a precocious Warlock, but still very green. I think it would be best to let the more experienced among us do some analysis of our own."

A backhanded compliment to Zinnia if he'd ever heard one. And to the Cryptarchy.

"Guardian Zinnia may be considered an integral part of the Vault Project's recent steps forward," he hedged. The Light help him if that admission ever reached her ears! "As for seniority oversight, you may rest assured that my best and brightest have been attentive every step of the way. The Cryptarchy presents its findings when we are certain that we actually have something worthwhile to present."

Shenu smiled. It was a cold, mocking smile.

"Quite." He shrugged, adjusting the collar of his ornate black vestments. "Your pardon, Cryptarch. No slight was intended."

If Shenu really meant that last, Rahool would eat his cowl for dinner.

"However," Shenu went on, "I should say that I question what 'further Guardian involvement' actually means. Are we going to be calling in teams for joint research? Say, the Praxics? Or are we simply waiting for coordinates and boots on the ground?" Once again, he posed his question to the Vanguard leaders and not to Rahool. Arrogant man! Rahool's rising temper felt like it could boil his cold away. If only it could! He had to pull out his handkerchief and rub at his nose. In the meantime, Ikora spoke up.

"I imagine any answer at this point is hypothetical," she said calmly. "We know just enough to be excited. Not enough to form a plan." She turned to face Rahool. "If the Cryptarchy is interested in a joint effort with any Warlock sub-Order, I am certain arrangements can be made. For now, it is premature to make any assumptions about fireteam formation or survey missions. We still have Fallen sightings in the quadrant, and chatter about increased Vex activity. We do not want to tip off either to our interest."

"Well spoken, Vanguard," Rahool said. "That was my thinking as well."

Shenu's icy smile went colder.

"I don't expect either the Fallen or the Vex to decrease in number between now and that science fair," Cayde finally spoke up. "How do we know they aren't already pokin' around? The Ishtar Collective sounds top of the list of things the Fallen like to meddle with. And by meddle, I mean pull apart and line their ketches with Golden-Age goodness. Seems to me we'll need to protect our interests before this whole project becomes moot."

Cayde did have a point. Rahool never really expected the Hunter to be on his side, but he was not actively working to oppose every single thing he did, either. Not like Shenu.

"Speaking of, what are our interests in the Vault?" Cayde continued. "Sure, there's some good campfire stories to be had out of it. But if it's been silent so long, we might be well off just letting it rest a while longer. It's not like we don't have our hands full already."

Rahool's heart sank. Blast it all, where was that famous Hunter curiosity when he needed it? Perhaps that was precisely what he needed to play up now.

"I think you said it best yourself," Rahool said. "If we don't get there first, someone else will. Suppose something inside could turn the tide of war in our favor? Or against us? I'm only speculating, of course. I would like to believe there is some value in discovery for discovery's sake."

Cayde tipped his head, considering. He spun the stylus in his fingers again. Perhaps the seed was planted. Cayde could be startlingly pragmatic at times, but he was still a Hunter. Rahool could almost see the visions of those first tentative footsteps into the unknown playing out in the Exo's mind. He could also imagine Cayde's frustration at realizing he probably would not be the one making those steps. Likely that was the cause of his initial resistance. Blessed Light, how the Vanguard duties burned him! Rahool rather felt sorry for him sometimes. Cayde just wanted to be in the field and was prohibited by his leadership. Rahool couldn't imagine what he'd do if someone barred him from the Vault project or from his life's work in the Cryptarchy.

Lakshmi spoke up across the table from Rahool.

"I think it is clear that we — that the Tower — do not need to abandon the Vault Project. Our resources are stretched thin, yet a little prudence now could save a lot of trouble in the future. I understand, Cryptarch, that a large component of your scholarship on the Vault has to do with Vex timegate theory?" Her blue eyes were piercing, a startling juxtaposition to her warm, inviting voice.

"Yes…" Rahool hesitated, wondering how in depth he should go. It wasn't that he didn't trust Lakshmi…but the Vanguard were truly the only organization he felt he could go to without worrying about what would blossom behind his back. Blessed Light, the Future War Cult had some eerily good time travel theorists. He had consulted them more than once. They were also so secretive that they more than earned their designation of cult. The Vanguard may like to take matters into their own hands and abruptly send in the Guardians, but the Guardians could do what the Cryptarchy could not. And at least he stood a good chance of hearing all about it, even if at the eleventh hour. The Future War Cult would not be nearly so transparent.

If Lakshmi noticed his hesitation, she gave no sign of it.

"If timegates are at all involved, that tells me we'd be best keeping an eye on the Vault," she said to the room. "As we do with Mercury."

"I'm inclined to agree," Commander Zavala said, looking toward Cayde and Ikora. Cayde shrugged.

"Suits me fine. Just don't know what we're expected to do with all these missin' puzzle pieces."

"You and me both!" Rahool sighed.

The Exo got a quiet laugh out of that, and Zavala gave a wry smile. Ikora nodded, lost in thought. It was hard to tell when she was troubled and when she was just running twenty steps ahead of you. Shenu looked put out at the joke.

"In all seriousness," Rahool said, "I am not requesting any Vanguard or faction resources at this time. Except for the continued, er, assistance of Guardian Zinnia," he added to Ikora.

"Of course," Ikora murmured, a small smile on her lips. She was likely quite pleased that her idea to send Zinnia to him for penances was working so favorably. Or perhaps she really had expected the Archives to be in chaos by this point.

"Only Guardian Zinnia?" Shenu spoke up. The querulous note in his voice was plain to Rahool's ears.

"I only mean to say that she will be continuing her arrangement," Rahool explained.

"Yes, I am aware," Shenu said flatly. "I am wondering whether any other Guardian who wishes to assist on the Vault Project must pledge to the Cryptarchy as well before they are allowed on."

Rahool blinked in surprise. Pledge? Hardly! Zinnia had to be counting the days until her penances were over!

"Of course not," he said.

"Then why, pray tell, has the Cryptarchy only requested a Novice's help?"

The Darkness take that man, he was just going to come right out and say it this time! Claiming that the Cryptarchy — that he personally — was keeping the Vault Project out of Guardian hands! He fought to keep from tugging at his cowl. All eyes turned to him again. Unfortunately, there was a kernel of truth to Shenu's suspicions. Rahool did not want Shenu on the project. He smoothed the papers in his folder, considering.

"Our doors are always open," he said slowly. "To the Praxic, to the Hosts, to the Prides. To anyone who wishes to study with us."

"Oh?" Shenu challenged. That thin, icy smile was back. "Then I'm not sure where Guardian Zinnia's complaints about denied Archival access and endless utilization as a — how did she put it? — a "glorified Frame" come from."

The Darkness blind Shenu a thousand times over! He was trying to lead him into a trap, even if that did sound like something Zinnia would say. Blast it all, when that girl was unhappy, nobody was safe!

"There are restrictions to Novice access, of course," Rahool answered, looking back and forth from Shenu to the Vanguard leaders. "That has always been the case. However, one only need ask what we have been up to. The Cryptarchy is not in the business of keeping secrets." Blessed Light, he hoped Lakshmi didn't take his glance around the table as a jab at her! Jalaal smirked. Hideo's expression was still pensive, a little dark. Lately it seemed that whatever Rahool had to say troubled the man. Hideo's demeanor had been decidedly cool toward him this past year, ever since he had declined partnership on his pet Foundry district renovations project.

Now Zavala was looking at him with the same inscrutable expression as Ikora had been. Rahool fought to keep his own expression neutral. _The Tower Cryptarchy is not in the business of keeping secrets!_ he thought. _Light, not from everyone, forever!…And I have not had to hold my own in a long while._

Zavala knew a few of those secrets. The others had heard the rumors. Blessed Light, did the Titan Vanguard not trust him any longer?

"What is it you wish, Guardian?" Ikora Rey said, turning to Shenu.

Shenu spread his hands philosophically.

"Nothing in particular, Vanguard. I only wanted…reassurance…that this Vault Project would not fall prey to battles of ego and pride." He spoke humbly enough, but Rahool could hear the insults being flung. He fumed inside. As did Shenu. "As well as reassurance that my pupil will still be available to me as the project moves forward."

"It is still a stipulation of Zinnia's penances that she maintains her availability to the Vanguard," Ikora said smoothly.

"This is all terribly interesting," Cayde sighed, the sarcasm dripping from his voice worse than Rahool's nose. "So, what's the deal, then? Rahool gets the green light on his project, Zinnia gets to her classes on time, and everybody can take a field trip to the Archives until we decide to knock on the Vault's front door? Okie dokie, then. All in favor?"

Zavala fixed Cayde with a stony look, and Ikora looked like she desperately wanted to roll her eyes. She plucked the stylus from his hand, returning it to her datapad at last. The Commander sighed and began to file away his meeting agenda.

"If there are no further concerns or objections, then yes, I propose that the Vault Project maintains its course as dictated by the Tower Cryptarchy."

"Second!" Cayde's hand shot up. He had hardly waited for Zavala to finish speaking. The Hunter's impatience could be outright annoying, but right now, it was a blessing from the Traveler itself. Shenu shrugged elegantly and folded his hands on the table. The vote was cast, a unanimous if not exactly enthusiastic yea. Rahool knew better than to believe the Mentor's animosity was quelled. Rather, he was just waiting for another opportunity to badger him. In the meantime, he would most likely be taking Rahool up on his "offer" to visit the Cryptarchy.

Zavala called for the usual request for open discussion, but all meeting goers were well and truly done by this point. Even if the others had some complaints, they were either too tired to bring them up or would be conducting their own discussions in a much more private setting. The meeting was finally adjourned.

Cayde and his fellow Hunter could hardly have left the room faster if it was on fire. Ikora and Zavala talked as they gathered their belongings. The faction leaders ignored each other, keeping to their own thoughts, Hideo glancing at Rahool as he left the table. Rahool offered a smile. Hideo nodded, but left quickly after.

Rahool slowly gathered his papers. Now that the meeting was over and he could finally retire for the night, he could feel the full weight of the day and the added burden of his illness. He slipped out of the room with a nod for Ikora and Zavala. Outside, the wind had picked up and he could smell the moisture on the air. It was definitely going to snow tonight.

"Cryptarch," a familiar voice called. "A word, if you please."

Rahool barely hid his surprise at Shenu approaching. No, he did not please…

"Yes, Guardian?" he asked. He would remain civil. He would not let the man bully him! A few passerby glanced between them with expressions that said they were glad not to be in Rahool's shoes.

"I was assured that Zinnia would not be kept away from her studies when she was in the Cryptarchy's employ, but I have not seen my Novice all day. Kindly send her my way. I must insist that she not be kept exclusively to the Archives again."

Rahool frowned. "I'm afraid I haven't seen her either. She was expected this morning. I thought she was with you."

Shenu's jaw tightened.

"Is that so?" he murmured. Rahool had the distinct feeling he'd just sealed the little Warlock's fate. Well, he couldn't be blamed for her lack of communication! Still, he wouldn't willingly send an upset Shenu after anyone. Except perhaps Ives. Light, now there would be a showdown! He almost regretted the lack of communication between the Reef and the City for the improbability of that meeting alone.

"Send her to me should you find her," Shenu said, and walked off without so much as a by-your-leave. Rahool sniffed and went on his way.

So Zinnia had not been with her Mentor either. For some reason, he was much more uneasy about her odd disappearance than having her underfoot. After all, she hadn't been very pleased with him last night…perhaps he ought to check in at the Archives one more time…

No, he didn't dare risk Katilyn's wrath. Besides, she and Riva had become very good at sussing out the girl's tricks. He could just go back to his apartments and relax. Maybe she'd just found a good book and curled up somewhere, or gotten onto another one of her tangents about the Vault. Light, he'd have to find a way to keep her occupied before she drove him insane pestering him about getting on the team! She really had been a help at first…but how could he trust her now with such an endeavor when she couldn't stick to simple shelving? Especially after this disappearance?

He pulled his cowl close and hurried through the halls toward the central bank of elevators. He wouldn't think on it anymore tonight. For once, Zinnia could be somebody else's problem!


	18. I Was the Light

Shrieking, snarling, slavering, howling, biting…Quarrel fell to the floor under a press of bodies scrambling over each other to rip her to pieces. They were definitely not Fallen. That was all she could tell. With Ghost and Perdita at Rest, all illumination was gone. The weak night vision in the helm's visor was only enough to show indistinct shapes cutting at her. They devour Light! It was the only thought that could cut through her panic. She pulled the trigger on her rifle and the gun rattled into the darkness. Screams and hisses followed that, and some of the crushing weight fell away. She felt teeth and claws all up and down her arms, and then her legs as she kicked out.

Again and again she fired, rolling to try and get free from the madness. Everywhere she landed, another screaming swarm was upon her. The gun clicked empty and she had no time to reload. She wrenched the dagger from her belt and pressed the switch to call the shock to life. The blade crackled as she slashed at anything she could reach. More screams, some of them pain. Somewhere beside her, too far away in the boiling swarm, she could hear Zinnia struggling. Her hand cannon thundered off the walls.

"Ghost! How many? I can't see!" Quarrel gasped, fighting through the pain of her wounds, fighting to even stay upright.

 **I can't get a lock!** Ghost cried. **There's too many of them!**

A fiery burst roared up, splashing the room in orange and red. Quarrel saw Zinnia silhouetted in the glow, her palm outstretched. Bony, scaly bodies writhed and burned around her.

"Your Light!" Zinnia cried. "Detonate your Light!"

Quarrel had only a moment to watch before a claw ripped into her side. She screamed and lashed out with the dagger.

"How?" she shouted. "I can't!"

"You can!" Another burst of fire, this one falling close enough that she could feel its heat through her armor. "Concentrate on your Light! It gathers into your palms and —" Zinnia cut off with a shriek. The dying embers of her detonated Light cast long shadows of the swarm pressing over the Warlock, dragging her to the ground.

She had to do something or Zinnia would be lost. They would both be lost. But she couldn't concentrate! How could she call forth her Light when she was being eaten alive from every side? She cast her palm out like Zinnia had done. She thought of fire, heat and smoke and ash to consume. Nothing happened. A rough hand grabbed her outstretched arm and wrenched viciously. She fell to the ground again, the breath knocked out of her.

"Ghost!" she cried, lashing out at anything that so much as brushed by her. "How do I do it?"

 **It's part of you!** Ghost was as frantic as she felt. **I can't explain it!**

The dagger was not going to hold off these monsters forever. She had to reload her rifle. She groped at her belt for the fresh rounds, loosening the spent cartridge. Something was chewingon her other arm. She nearly dropped the rifle in agony. She kicked and kicked, squirming away, blindly trying to place the new cartridge. Needle sharp teeth cracked into bone. She screamed and the cartridge clicked in. Muzzle flash lit the air like lightning.

"Zinnia! Hang on, I'm coming!"

Zinnia had not thrown anymore Light since she had fallen. There had been no more sounds of her hand cannon. Quarrel's heart pounded in her temples.

"Ghost! Where is she?"

 **Directly ahead of you! Hang on — I'm getting us some light!**

Ghost appeared of his own will and hovered above her, his light coming on again in a blinding flash the visor only barely compensated for in time. It was enough to give her a quick impression of her surroundings. The door they had come through was some distance to her right. Their escape route was rapidly being cut off by more of these shrieking Hive.

A flash of deep green — Zinnia's vestments. The Warlock's hands were up, desperately trying to fend off the horde that writhed over her. Mouths ripped into her gauntlets, tore her vestments. Claws scratched at her silver helm, leaving long gouges. Quarrel jumped into the fray. Bullets took one eyeless monstrosity through the back of the skull. The dagger plunged between another's pointed shoulderblades. Gaping mouths hissed and snarled at her before exploding into fragments of bone and gristle. The Hive scrambled back from the assault, carapaces scraping against the metal ground.

Quarrel scrambled over to Zinnia. She was still lying on the ground, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The entire front of her vestments was torn up and covered in blood.

"Come on!" Quarrel cried. She reached out to pull the Warlock to her feet. Zinnia's hand trembled in hers. They stood side by side under Ghost's illumination. Quarrel caught a glint of metal on the ground beside Zinnia's foot. Her hand cannon. She snatched it up and pressed it into her hands. Zinnia swayed on her feet, but she kept standing. Hopefully Perdita could attend to some of her injuries in these spare few moments they had to breathe.

Outside Ghost's small pool of light, three virulent green eyes glowed in a triangular pattern. Then another three. And another. What was with these Dark-ridden creatures and their multiple eyes?

Ghost popped his light from side to side, trying to catch any Hive that might be trying to rush them. There was a hiss and a flash . Something vividly purple shot through the air. Quarrel spun aside, but not before that strange light hit her left thigh. The wound seared deadly cold. It had cut through her leg armor like paper. One of the three-eyed creatures was wielding a misshapen gun, hunched over and growling at her from behind a column. She saw others taking up positions to fire. These were not mindless swarms like the eyeless ones.

"We've got to get out of here!" Zinnia gasped.

"Agreed," Quarrel said grimly. She fired at another Hive creature who dared to look out from cover. "How's our exit looking, Ghost?"

 **We're surrounded! We'll have to fight our way through whether we go forward or back!**

Then there was nothing for it but to fight. She could hear the Hive massing around Ghost's light. If they stood here much longer, they would be overwhelmed. Better to be a moving target.

"Follow me!" she told Zinnia, and darted into the shadows.

 **Hey! Wait for me!** Ghost buzzed. Frantically, he tried to illuminate wherever he saw her rifle pointing. He did a fair good job of it, and between her rifle and Zinnia's hand cannon, they made short work of the three-eyed creatures.

"Can you detonate anymore of your Light?" she called to Zinnia.

"I'm too weak!" Zinnia answered. "I'm sorry!"

"We'll make do!" she grunted, kicking one of the wretched eyeless square in the chest. Her wounds stung, her bitten arm felt like it had caught fire. They made a circuit around the room, barreling into the swarms, firing indiscriminately, lashing out before they could be overwhelmed. Zinnia fought beside her, popping open a couple skulls and shredding limbs with heavy rounds, the spent shells clinking on the ground around their feet. She could still hear screams and snarls all around. How many of these things were there? On they ran, with Ghost trying to keep them in view. She panted for breath, strained to see through her visor splashed with strange effluent. Her oxygen filters couldn't keep out the cloying musty smell of the Hive bodies choking the room.

She hoped they were headed toward the doorway they had come in through. It was too easy to lose their bearings during the chase. Everything was starting to look the same. Just a confusing jumble of shadows, twitching corpses, and dusty Golden Age tech. They stumbled into a dais and Quarrel knew she was all turned around. Zinnia feverishly loaded bullets into her hand cannon. One dropped to the ground in her haste, and the curses that came through Quarrel's comms would have made even Banshee blush.

 **Oh, why did I get us into this mess?** Ghost fretted above their heads. **I knew I should have kept us in training! I'm a terrible Ghost! If only I could —!**

A deep, baleful groan silenced him. As one, Quarrel and Zinnia turned away from the dais toward the black. She heard thudding footsteps and the sound of something metallic and sharp scraping the ground. She pushed Zinnia aside, throwing herself in the other direction. In Ghost's swinging light, she saw a cruel, heavy blade come crashing down right where they had been standing. An enormous, armored thing wrenched the blade out of the split dais railing. This Hive creature was much, much larger than the ones who had been shooting and swarming. Ghost's light shone over wicked, sharp teeth in a lipless mouth. Its entire body was covered in bony armor far too thick for her shock dagger to penetrate, which was now looking pitiful in comparison to its monstrous sword. The beast blinked at her, those same three wicked eyes.

Why was there always a bigger, badder combatant lurking around the corner?

They had to get through this. She didn't want to know what would happen if they were caught. Would the Hive kill them right away? Would they simply devour them and their Light, eating them alive? She thought about what would happen to her Ghost when she fell, imagined claws reaching for him, teeth tearing at his fins, the poor thing helpless to defend himself.

The rifle spat, muzzle flashing in the gloom as she emptied the clip at the massive swordbearer. It roared and stumbled, much to her surprise. So it was susceptible to her bullets! She saw it fall to a knee — and then it roared again as a massive flaming wall rose up to cover it. She reeled back, in part from the shock and in part from the horrible sensation the shield evoked. It felt like a thousand tiny barbs tearing at her, pulling some part of her away. Her bullets ricocheted wildly off of that disgusting shield. The gun clicked empty again. She reached for more ammunition, eyes still trained on the shield.

One of the smaller shooters rolled out from behind her. She dropped the cartridge in surprise, and swung the shock dagger backward, slicing across its chest and tearing at the ragged cloth it wore around its hips. More of the purple light discharged straight into her knee. She howled and fell to her back. She jammed the dagger up between its three eyes and the snarling creature fell on top of her, dead before it hit the ground.

 **Watch out!**

Ghost's warning came just in time. She heaved the body off of her and turned to see the behemoth charging. She wrenched the dagger free and launched it in a desperate throw. The dagger sailed through the air and hit its eyes with the flat of the blade. It hadn't struck home like she'd hoped, but it was enough to stop the beast in its tracks. It clawed at its eyes, wailing in rage, burned by the white-hot electricity coursing through the metal. Black ichor streamed down its face. A ball of fire sailed over Quarrel's head to land at the swordbearer's feet. The monster erupted in flame. Zinnia had found her Light again! Quarrel slammed a new cartridge home and fired. Bullets riddled the Hive's thick armor until it fell in a panting heap, snarling to its last breath.

She snatched up the dagger and caught Zinnia's arm. They stood in Ghost's tiny pool of light again, staring at each other in disbelief. Cold, numbing relief washed through her. Ghost was healing as quickly as he could.

 **We're clear!** Ghost cried. **We can get out the way we came and — oh, no!**

"What?" Quarrel urged, the rifle coming up to fend off the unknown. "What is it?"

 **There's a Wizard here!** If Ghost had been frightened before, that fear was nothing compared to what shook his voice now. He turned to her, fins taut, cerulean eye wide. **We have to kill it! If it gets loose…! Oh, there won't be a City to go back to if Wizards roam free!** In their short time together, Quarrel had never seen him so distraught. She looked to Zinnia.

The Warlock nodded. "Let's do this."

Renewed by Ghost's care, Quarrel charged up the dais into another stairway leading further up the complex. Ghost kept to her shoulder and Zinnia to her flank, so close they practically touched. She was glad for the little Warlock's company, glad that she wasn't facing these creatures alone. If she had met the Hive instead of the Fallen her very first day…

They dropped into a crouch in a small anteroom. The sounds of battle raged in the chamber beyond, screaming Hive and some very familiar guttural snarls.

 **You're going to have your hands full** , Ghost whispered. **I've got dozens of Hive signatures in the next room. There's Fallen too!**

Just what they needed, Fallen and Hive. But then again, the infighting could work in their favor…

"Is the Wizard still here?" Quarrel asked, voice low. They could have both spoken full voiced without fear — the unearthly shrieks and howls of the two fighting factions would have drowned them out — but she didn't want to chance giving their position away.

 **Yes, it's very close**. Ghost still sounded so solemn.

"We've got no choice, then," Zinnia said. "We can't afford to wait for backup. By that time the Hive will have slaughtered the Fallen. They'll come for us next. Maybe with reinforcements from another ship!"

 **That's very possible** , Perdita buzzed. Zinna's Ghost had appeared from Rest to attend to the Warlock and add her illumination. She too sounded very afraid.

"Maybe we can just take the Wizard out," Quarrel suggested. "After that, we can make an escape."

 **That sounds all right** , Ghost said. **Oh, this is definitely work for a full fireteam! Especially when it's your first day on the job!**

Somehow, she found a smile.

"First _official_ day on the job," Quarrel reminded him. "We've been against tough odds before, remember? Fallen around every corner, and an Archon lurking in the walls?"

 **True. But the Hive…they're different. Worse.**

"So I hear."

"An _Archon_?!" Zinnia gasped. "You never said anything about an Archon!"

"I'll tell you all about it — if we live through this."

Quarrel took a steadying breath. Stealth and speed were key here. The confusion of the battle raging just beyond their hiding place could be used to their advantage, as long as they kept their wits about them. She readied herself in a crouch.

"I'll send more Sol grenades to the Thrall if they get close," Zinnia said. "Those are the ones that like to swarm us. Um…at least I think that's what Shenu called them."

 **Yes, Thrall** , Perdita said. **But don't underestimate them just because they're smaller than the Knights!**

"Knights?" Quarrel asked.

 **The swordbearers** , Perdita clicked.

"What do we do about the Fallen?" she asked.

"I think they're on our side for once," Zinnia said.

 **Be ready to fight on two fronts all the same** , Ghost buzzed. **I wouldn't ever count on the Fallen as allies!**

 **Definitely not!** Perdita agreed.

"Fine," Quarrel said. "So we'll sneak in and target the Wizard. Once its down, we retreat. As soon as we're in the open, we can head for the wall —"

 **Not even that** , Ghost interrupted. Perdita and I can call your ship. Just get to safety outside and we'll take care of the rest!

"Sounds like a plan!" Zinnia said, her voice shaking. She sounded at once terrified and excited. Quarrel knew exactly how she felt.

She nodded. "You ready?"

"Ready."

"You two get to Rest," Quarrel told the Ghosts. The large room was fairly well lit, likely thanks to the Fallen. It seemed bright daylight compared to the dark, close hell they had just escaped from. Perdita and Ghost disappeared.

"Let's go," Quarrel said. She wished her confidence extended past her voice.

 **Guardian?** Ghost chirped suddenly.

"Yeah?"

 **I'm with you. Always.**

The reassurance was welcome, and somehow comforting despite his tiny presence. She thought she could feel a surge of warmth in her chest. Maybe it was just conviction, or maybe that was Ghost's resolve. Whatever it was, it fed her quavering courage.

"I know."

Quarrel surged out from the anteroom in a low sprint, making for a nearby pillar. She caught glimpses of writhing bodies locked in combat, tumbling over and around each other. Flashes of blue and purple light lit up the air and cast jumbled shadows on the walls. The Fallen howled in angry defiance. The higher voices of the Dregs and Vandals cried out in pain and fury, and somewhere above the fray she thought she heard the deep bark of a Captain. There was no time to worry about that now. She would deal with each threat as it came. The snarls and shrieks of the Hive were completely alien from the Fallen, something even more savage and incomprehensible. The swarming, eyeless ones — Thrall, Zinnia had called them — attacked anything that moved with a single-minded zeal that made the Dregs look placid in comparison. They ripped at the Fallen with jagged claws and bit at their flesh. She saw one take a nasty chunk out of a Dreg's arm in one frenzied bite. The unfortunate Fallen spat in its face, baring its own sharp teeth, and grappled with its remaining good arm. When they fell to the floor, it kicked with its powerful long legs. The Thrall snapped at the Dreg's shins and three more fell upon the struggle. The Dreg slashed wildly with its shock dagger, opening burning, smoking lacerations. They were not deterred in the least. The Dreg disappeared under the implacable mass, four eyes burning hatred, and then it moved no more. When the Thrall moved away as one, the Dreg's body was a torn, bleeding heap. Gas leaked in hazy tendrils from its flayed throat.

The Thrall threw themselves toward a line of Fallen standing on the upper level of the split room. The main force of Fallen were barely holding the line against the Hive. Quarrel darted behind the pillar's cover, Zinnia close behind. She heard footsteps behind her. More Hive. These ones were the three-eyed horrors that wielded the deadly light weapons. Thankfully there were none of those Knights to be seen.

The shooters ran toward her, not having caught sight of the Guardians yet. Quarrel lashed out from the shadows when they reached her side. One fell to the shock dagger jabbed through its bony throat. The next collided with its dead companion and was seared from sternum to belly with fire from Zinnia's palm. It fell, hissing and gurgling, grasping at its charred torso. Quarrel's rifle took down the last two.

She spun immediately, waiting for the onslaught now that their position had been given away. Mercifully, the Fallen and Hive nearby were too engrossed in fighting for their own lives to pay them any heed. Quarrel darted behind a massive central column of blank, cracked monitors and shattered computing equipment — and collided with a wounded Dreg seeking the same shelter. She saw the shocked recognition in its eyes, and maybe even a little fear. It was dead on the floor before it could raise its pistol, the shock dagger slammed through its throat.

She looked to her right around the column. A rifle muzzle twitched in her direction. She jerked her head back. The air sizzled where a charged bolt cut through. That had been too close. She fired around the column before rolling out. A Vandal hit the floor in a low crouch, two arms covering its head while the other two raised its weapon. Zinnia's Sol grenade fell at its feet. It had no time to get away before the fiery Light erupted.

That caught the attention of the Fallen and Hive. Most stepped back from the explosion, shielding their eyes. A few looked to see where the intrusion had come from. Quarrel and Zinnia scrambled back into the column's shadow.

"Where's the Wizard?" Quarrel called to Ghost. Something so terrifying ought to be easy to spot!

 **Twelve o'clock!** Ghost cried. **I can feel its Darkness! Can't you?**

"Apparently not —" she began. A fierce, ear-splitting scream rose above the fray. Something struck her, like an icy cold wave of water. Quarrel shuddered and gasped, feeling a tight squeeze in her chest and pinpricks of pain all over her body.

The Wizard!

Something dark and sinuous slipped through the air overhead. It chittered and growled, each syllable a grinding whine, nails scratching stone. A tendril of foul, black cloth brushed her right shoulder. The icy feeling gripped her so hard she thought she would freeze where she stood. She couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, could barely move. It was as if all the terror she should have felt from her very first breath in her new life had descended all at once. She caught a glimpse of a chitinous face, splayed open to reveal a grinning dead mouth. The sounds coming out of the Wizard's throat were unreal. Like with the Tombship, she wanted to cover her ears, to curl up into a ball and shut her eyes tight. Those little pinpricks of ice and pain shot through her body again.

She had to move. She could not just stand there. Why couldn't she move?

The abomination hung in the air, regarding her with interest.

 **It's got my Light!** Ghost was in a panic. **It's pulling on it!** ** _Feeding_** **on it!**

Ghost's terror nudged her back from the edge of oblivion, pushed her out of the Wizard's mesmerizing three-eyed gaze. She snarled and raised her rifle, firing. Quick as a shadow, the Wizard twisted and slipped away. It screamed its anger, and all in the room trembled at the sound. The Fallen looked up and scattered, each one firing its weapon at this new threat. She saw the Wizard raise bony claws in response. Blinding, searing light engulfed the Fallen. They burned, crying out in pain, and were finished.

Quarrel recoiled from that light. Spots flashed in her eyes. It was anathema to what burned inside her and Ghost. Unclean. Twisted. With an effort, she leveled her rifle and fired again, right at the Wizard's head. It snarled and hissed, jerking from the force of the bullets. It turned to her and she barely had time to duck behind the column before the floor was scraped clean by another volley of that unwholesome light.

On the upper floor, a pack of Fallen had ensconced themselves in a small storage room. Through an open window overlooking the main room Quarrel could finally see the Captain. It was staring out at the Wizard, drawn up to its full height, every arm tensed. The Wizard darted through the air, dodging the attempts of the Dregs and Vandals to strike at it, dodging Zinnia's frantic hand cannon shots. The Captain bellowed its challenge, raising muscular arms into the air and brandishing twin shock blades.

A swarm of Thrall flooded through that room's small doorway. Quarrel watched the Captain swing its shock blades and cut one of them in half. The remaining Dregs and Vandals rallied behind their superior. For once, she almost cheered the Fallen on. At least they didn't give her that horrible, prickling sensation, that feeling of being poisoned or siphoned away from herself. At least they didn't make her Ghost cry out in fear for his Light.

The Thrall were wary of the Captain now, but the Wizard did not care. It spoke and the remaining Thrall hurled themselves at the huddled Fallen. The Dregs intercepted the attack on their Captain. The Vandals shot and slashed with charged rifles and shock daggers. The Captain picked up another Thrall and ripped its arms clean off, even as one tore into its neck. The Captain reached up with one arm and strangled the creature, howling all the while. It threw the offending Thrall down and crushed its head under a heavy, armored foot. The Captain's triumphant roar echoed against the metal walls — and was turned to anguish by the Wizard's blinding light.

The Wizard was distracted. Quarrel left her cover and fired. It flinched, squealing and gnashing, but it would not fall. What did she have to do? The filthy creature burned. It wasn't her imagination — there was a touch of flame around it that she could feel the heat from, even against the chill of the Wizard's presence.

The Wizard turned its terrible gaze on her. She tried to leap away and found that she could only stumble aside. Her Light felt so far away. Trapped. Hiding. That was not good. She needed it. Zinnia couldn't fling her fire forever.

A Vandal's shot stung the Wizard's shoulder. The Wizard plummeted, hit the floor momentarily, lashed like a coiled snake. Zinnia fired. The Wizard thrashed back into the air, ragged garments whipping in its flight. It abandoned the Fallen and headed straight for the Guardians. The closer it got, the more the stinging needles under Quarrel's skin pricked at her. She hadn't realized she had left Zinnia's side. Her fierce need to eradicate the creature had drawn her forward like a magnet.

A particularly brave Dreg threw itself at the Wizard. It sailed through the air and jabbed its shock dagger into the Wizard's hollow belly. A moment later it had burned to ashes in that remorseless not-light.

The Captain leaped off the dais. It threw its charred, smoking bulk against the Wizard, shouting hatred. The Wizard was pinned against the Captain's massive body. A shock blade lopped off one of its long, spindly arms. The Wizard lanced the claws of its remaining hand into the Captain's eyes, between its great helm and facemask. Its fingers went through the Captain's skull. The Captain went rigid and shuddered, each limb moving as though no longer under any control, and then slumped to the floor.

Now there was only one lone Vandal between Quarrel and the Wizard. Blackish blood streamed from its body, its helm torn away. Its mouth hung open, panting for breath. It too screamed defiance at the Wizard before it died from another blast of that wicked light.

Quarrel stood in the open, on the stairs to the upper level. The Wizard slowly turned to face her.

 **It's shielded by dark magic!** Ghost cried. **You've got to break that shield!**

The Wizard raised its hand. Its tiny eyes fixed on her. Some insidious, nauseating incantation burbled from its dry mouth. The needles under her skin became thousands of hooks. Quarrel clawed at herself, convinced she was being torn into, that there was blood spilling from her in countless tiny lacerations. Something wailed incoherent horror inside her head. Ghost.

 _No._

 _NO!_

Light erupted in Quarrel's chest and flooded into every part of her. She raised her arm and saw the rifle melting in her hands, slumping into useless slag. Bright, searing flame raced over her entire body. She was flame. When she howled, her throat was a bellows. A new gun emerged in her palms, small and flare-bright, glinting gold and red and feeling like an extension of her will.

In her desperation, she had asked for a weapon to defeat this Wizard. Something to take down the burning shield it wore and sear its foul magic out of this universe. Her Light had answered.

Now she leveled this new weapon at the Wizard as she flew through the air — a burning meteor, a deadly bolt of fire — and squeezed the trigger. Three shots rang out with the sound of an inferno. Each shot felt like a triumphant shout. Each shot felt like she had emptied her being into a flaming bullet. With each shot, she was the bullet. She felt herself sink into the Wizard's mouldering cloth and bones, felt herself engulf the cold, foul flesh. Burning, charring, hot as the sun. Hotter! She thought she would be burned alive too. She thought she wanted nothing else than that. It was glorious! It was sweet! The needles were gone and the flame would purify all!

The Wizard exploded into ash. Quarrel fell to the floor on hands and knees. Burning embers dusted her armor. She was diminished. Her helm touched the ground. Adrenaline and terror and sheer, wild joy rolled through her body.

 **Guardian?** Ghost's timid voice filled her mind.

She tried to speak and could not, wracked with breathless sobs.

Zinnia fell to the ground beside her. She pulled Quarrel upright, trembling hands on her shoulders. She was shouting with joy, babbling at her in excitement. Ghost sprang into being. He flitted about her, sending scans all over, fins flicking in agitation and excitement.

 **You did it! You did it!** he cried. **You destroyed the Wizard! You wielded the Light! I saw it! I felt it! I…I think I was part of it!**

"What…what was that?" Quarrel gasped. She thought she might vomit or laugh or cry until she passed out. She wanted to curl up and sleep for a week. She wanted to stand up and fight the entire universe.

"You channeled your Light!" Zinnia laughed. "I knew you could do it! It was the Golden Gun! You found the Golden Gun!"

 **I never imagined this would happen so soon!** Ghost was in utter disbelief.

"I was fire," Quarrel murmured. "I was light. I was the Light!" She looked at her Ghost.

 **You were!**

"Oh, wow!" Zinnia gushed. "This is so great! The Vanguard aren't going to believe this. I bet the Warlocks will —!"

Something moved in the adjoining room. Quarrel reached for her rifle and touched a blazing hot lump of twisted metal and glass. Zinnia stood, readying her hand cannon. Ghost flitted behind Quarrel's shoulder. Another scrape beyond the door. Zinnia rounded the doorway, gun leveled. Something scrambled into the darkness beyond. Quarrel heard the quiet rumblings of Fallen language. Zinnia pulled the trigger, hoping to send a bullet to chase the Fallen away. Nothing happened.

"Ugh! Stupid! I'm out of ammo!" Zinnia growled.

 **A Dreg's signature** , Ghost buzzed. **All by itself. It's retreating.**

Quarrel hauled herself to her feet. She and Zinnia surveyed the room. Fallen and Hive lay in twisted piles. Torn cloaks and scraps of Hive coverings coiled over the bodies. A faint, oily smoke curled from the ash that had once been the Wizard.

 **Let's get out of here** , Ghost said. For once, Quarrel was not inclined to argue with him.


	19. Ill Advised

"Be absolutely clear, Guardians," Commander Zavala warned. "It was a Wizard you fought?" The Titan Commander was a mobile fortress in shining armor, and at the moment he was looming over Zinnia in a way that made even Quarrel want to take a step back. Somehow, Zinnia took it in stride. Perhaps it was her unbreakable enthusiasm, hardly contained throughout the entire jumpship ride back to the Tower. Dark circles under her eyes made the Warlock look as weary as Quarrel felt — it was hard to sleep with her chattering away in the jumpseat — and yet she still mustered the energy to bounce on her toes in excitement.

"Fought and defeated, Commander!" Zinnia exulted. It did not matter to her exuberance that she had not been the one who had channeled that…that power. How could Quarrel accurately describe the sensation? That sheer torrent of Light! The unnerving certainty that she was going to be torn apart, atom by atom, in burning flame! Part of her never wanted to do that again. Another part of her begged for it, wanted to be annihilated by it.

 **With my Guardian's solar offensive!** Ghost chimed in. His fins twitched ever so slightly from the rigid attention he kept while reporting to the Commander.

Zavala's pale eyes fastened on Quarrel. His stern face could have rivaled the Speaker for an impassive mask. For some reason, he was not moved by this information like Ghost, Zinnia, or even Perdita. Instead, the Commander just seemed troubled. His expression didn't change, but she could see it in the tightness around his eyes, the terse set of his mouth. That had been there ever since Zinnia had mentioned the Hive.

"How many Hive were there?" Zavala asked, turning back to his station at the Vanguard Hall table. The other two Order leaders were absent, and the warm lights in the long chamber were dimmed. Zinnia and the Commander's skin crackled with little filaments of Light, their eyes glowing like stars in the shadows.

Quarrel just felt dull and tired, drained despite the buzzing in her veins at the memory of Light. Of course Commander Zavala wasn't pleased at her accomplishment. She'd done nothing but nearly die. She wondered how bad the reprimand would be. Would she be exiled from the Tower? Cayde had only said they could explore, not engage an ancient enemy even deadlier than the Fallen.

 **My signature count was at least fifty distinct Hive lifeforms** , Perdita announced. **Mostly Thrall, a few Acolytes — and one Knight.** She floated near Zinnia, calmer than her Guardian as always.

Zavala's only acknowledgment was a slight hesitation in picking up a holoscroll.

"Fifty," he murmured. "Did you find a Seeder?"

 **No, Commander.**

 **There was brood nectar** , Ghost added, glancing at Perdita.

 **Er, yes. There was** , she amended.

"I see."

Zavala was still looking at the scroll in his hand. He appeared to be deep in thought, his movements as steady and deliberate as his voice.

"We destroyed them all!" Zinnia could not contain her outburst. Her voice was a little too loud for the introspective mood that hung over the room. "Any Hive who didn't get a bullet were probably scared away by Quarrel's Golden Gun!" Whatever this situation was to Zavala, it was an absolute triumph to Zinnia. Perdita clicked at her, sounding very much like an admonishment.

Again, Zavala's piercing stare landed on Quarrel.

"You channeled the Golden Gun?" There was no sense of amazement in his tone. He was merely asking her to confirm.

"I…uh…" What had happened? Golden Gun? Solar offensive? Ghost and Zinnia had argued semantics the entire flight back to the City. All she knew was that there had been fire — oh, there had been burning, cleansing flame! She still didn't know how it had happened.

"I saw the whole thing!" Zinnia jumped in. "She held the little hand cannon and everything!" She turned her attention to Quarrel. "Tory couldn't even throw a grenade at one week! He's never going to believe this! He'll be sooo jealous! Your affinity must be really high for Sol and —"

 **Zinnia!** Perdita buzzed. The Warlock flinched at the reprimand, glancing at the Commander sheepishly.

"There was a weapon," Quarrel said, covering Zinnia's embarrassed silence. "Burning gold. It came out of nowhere. The bullets…they were fire. I…I don't think there was any part of me that wasn't flame." She stopped at that, feeling stupid.

Commander Zavala nodded once. A tiny shift at the corner of his mouth might have been a smile.

"You were incredibly lucky to muster up your Light in that situation," he said. "Especially the Light of Sol. There are few things that put an end to Wizards like its fire." He set the holoscroll down on the table and straightened up, regarding Zinnia, the Ghosts, and Quarrel at once. "You were also incredibly lucky to escape with your lives. Veteran fireteams have fallen to Hive forces in far fewer numbers. You are both to be commended for your bravery…if not your judgment." Zinnia, whose grin had been growing wider and wider, hunched a little into her vestment collar.

"I am grateful for the news you have brought," Zavala said. "It is good that we can catch this infestation early. At least, we must pray that it is early. I'll be sending teams to assess the state of the Cosmodrome. From here on out, I expect you two to stay away unless expressly ordered."

Quarrel felt a flash of indignation. Stay away from the Cosmodrome? After everything they had done?

"I will not have you relying on luck again," Zavala continued. "You've done well, but new Guardians should not be facing the Hive alone."

She couldn't stop herself from speaking up.

"What about scouting? Cayde said that we could —"

"Ah, yes. Cayde." Zavala sighed. "I had a feeling he would be somewhere in this."

She shut her mouth. She had just made a hell of a morning for the Hunter Vanguard on the morrow.

"Until we know the extent of the Hive incursion, even your scouting is ill advised. Understood?"

"Yes, Commander," Zinnia said, her fingers twisting in her sleeves.

"Yes, Commander," Quarrel echoed, though she could have choked on her resentment. There had to be a way around this restriction. Surely Zinnia could think of something. She was supposed to be the queen of getting into places she shouldn't be!

"Good. I'll publish your reports, Ghosts. Good work."

Perdita and Ghost chirped in acknowledgment. The praise from the Commander was also clearly a dismissal.

"Get some rest, both of you." It sounded more order than request. Quarrel and Zinnia saluted their goodbyes and left the Commander standing at the table. He was staring at its glassy surface again, every line of him solemn. Ghost had said the Hive were bad news. There had been no bravado from the Titan Vanguard about being able to deal with their threat quickly. Maybe they really had been far more over their heads than they had realized.

As they climbed out of the cool chamber onto the promenade, she turned to Zinnia.

"We can get back out there, right?"

Zinnia checked mid-yawn. "Huh? To the Cosmodrome?"

"Yes."

"Well…the Commander said we shouldn't…"

 **Are you really thinking about contradicting Zavala's orders?** Ghost asked, incredulous.

"You don't want to be stuck in the Tower, do you?" Quarrel chided him. "After all these centuries of waiting?

Ghost was taken aback.

 **Well…I…you see…**

"Zavala technically has to approve all launches," Zinnia said, toying with her sleeves again. "Cayde managed to sneak us through, but it would be really hard to do that again now that Zavala is on to him."

 **Commander Zavala is right** , Perdita chirped. **We were lucky. I'm all for battling the Hive, but that was too close. If you want to go, why not find a more experienced Guardian?**

"Of course! We could ask Shenu!" Quarrel cried. "He'd take us, wouldn't he?"

Zinnia kept twisting her sleeves. "Um…maybe?"

"Could you ask him?"

"Well…I'm not sure how he's going to take it. I might want to wait a couple of days."

Quarrel frowned at the Warlock. "What's wrong?"

 ** _Somebody_** **decided it was a good idea to sneak away from the Tower without telling Shenu!** Perdita clicked.

"You didn't tell him you were going?" Quarrel laughed.

"He wouldn't have let me!" Zinnia cried.

 **You didn't tell Master Rahool, either! You're really going to be in for it tomorrow morning!**

"Rahool will forgive me once I bring him these artifacts!" Zinnia grinned, patting her full satchel. "I should deliver these to the Archives!"

 **You can deliver them after you get some sleep** , Perdita scolded.

 **Yes** , Ghost chimed in. **We could all do with a good rest.**

Zinnia dismissed the idea, but Quarrel thought nothing sounded better. After the terror and ecstasy of the battle, she felt like an empty husk.

All the way to the elevators, Zinnia chattered happily about the Golden Gun — solar offensive, as Ghost kept pointing out. There they said their goodbyes. Zinnia surprised Quarrel by throwing her arms around her in a strong hug.

"That was so great!" Zinnia sighed happily. "Like a real fireteam on a mission! Thanks for taking me with you!"

"You're welcome," Quarrel grinned, touched by her enthusiasm. It was as if she hadn't expected to go! Then again, until she'd settled on deceiving Shenu, she probably really hadn't…

"You aren't going to be in trouble, are you?" Quarrel asked.

"Master Rahool will forget everything once I tell him all about the Cosmodrome."

"And Shenu?"

Zinnia's confidence slipped a little.

"He'll be okay too." She shrugged uncomfortably, glancing away down the hall.

"If you say so," Quarrel said. "Goodnight." The elevator doors slid open.

"Goodnight!" Zinnia grinned. She actually skipped off down the hall, Perdita trailing in her happy wake.

 **I guess nothing will keep her down for long** , Ghost chirped.

Quarrel eyed Ghost curiously. "You really don't want to go back?"

 **We'll talk about it.**

"I might channel the solar offensive again," she grinned.

 **We'll talk.**

* * *

 **What are you doing?** Perdita scolded. **It's time to get some sleep!**

Zinnia rounded the grand portal in the North Tower, laden satchel in hand, heading toward the Archives.

"I want to get these items to the Cryptarchy right away! They could be useful!"

 **Can't it wait until morning? You're going to be there anyways!**

"It will only take a minute!"

 **Nothing ever takes a minute for you — unless it's your studies!**

Zinnia rolled her eyes.

 **You are going to be so sorry in the morning!** Perdita groused. **I'd better not hear a peep about how early it is when I wake you up!**

Oh, what did Perdita care? It wasn't like _she_ needed any sleep!

"I use an alarm clock," Zinnia sighed.

 **Use it? Ha! More like throw it across the room! If it weren't for me, you'd never be anywhere on time!**

"Oh, Perdita the martyr!"

 **Couldn't you at least clean up first? You're a mess!**

Perdita's agitated clicks followed her all the way into the Archives. Zinnia hurried down the long aisles between the stacks, empty now that it was well past midnight. Only one or two Cryptarchs would be on duty, though she didn't know who it would be. She could never quite remember the schedule.

 **Zinnia** , Perdita suddenly interrupted her put-upon litany, buzzing worriedly. **Is Shenu supposed to be here?**

"What? I don't know…"

She had approximately two seconds to register Shenu's presence and to see that he was furious. He had been waiting for her, as evidenced by his positioning at her desk down an aisle that nobody used unless they were coming directly there. When she turned the corner around the stacks and saw him, he saw her too. His dark eyes flashed murder, and that was the end of any escape plans. She opted for a bright smile to cover the sudden dread she felt.

"There you are," Shenu said softly.

"Guard —"

She couldn't even finish the word. Shenu swept over to her, grabbed her arm, and all but dragged her to the desk.

"Sit!" he commanded, voice tight with fury.

She sat.

Ebla immediately jumped onto the desk, purring away. She didn't dare to even reach out and touch the cat's ears. Not with that ferocious look in Shenu's black eyes.

"Get out of here!" The senior Warlock snarled at the cat. He swept an arm over the desk. There was a hint of cold Void in his palm's wake. Ebla trilled and jumped away, trotting down the stacks and looking over his shoulder in reproach.

She decided she had better start making amends.

"Is there something —"

In a flash, Shenu was leaning over her chair, hands on either armrest.

"What were you thinking?" he hissed, inches from her face. "Are you absolutely out of your mind, Novice? Have you completely lost your senses? Has nothing I taught you made it through your thick skull?"

She blinked up at him, aware that her mouth was hanging open.

"Is this regarding the Cosmodrome?" she asked, still trying to be pleasant. A little calm wouldn't hurt anything at this point!

"The Cosmodrome!" Shenu snorted. He released the chair and stood up straight, scrubbing a hand through his short black hair. He was positively agitated, a state she'd never seen him in. "You had better believe it is absolutely about the Cosmodrome! Or more precisely, my idiotic little Novice who thinks she can take on the Hive!"

Zinnia sat, hands in her lap, resisting the urge to play with her sleeves. She had a million defenses she could give to her Mentor. At the moment, he looked as though he would bite her if she so much as opened her mouth.

"Leaving aside your serious lack of judgment in leading a Newly Reborn into an active Dead Zone, and the fact that you lied to me about your whereabouts, I am astonished that you had the complete lack of sense to think that taking on the Hive alone was a good idea!"

She dared to offer a explanation.

"We didn't mean to engage. We only wanted to see —"

"You shouldn't have been there in the first place!" Shenu snarled. He was trying to keep his voice low, but in the late quiet, undoubtedly he could be heard throughout the chamber. "Such tasks are not for the likes of you!"

She bit her lip to hide her disappointment. Shenu wouldn't like that either — he always wanted her to display a calm demeanor, even when he was reprimanding her — but she was awfully tired of everyone implying that she wasn't up to the task of even looking at the Darkness.

"I'm sorry, Guardian."

All she could do now was apologize. Clearly there was no explanation she could give that would make good on her deception. Not even successfully battling the Hive.

"You're sorry?" Shenu growled. "You very nearly extinguished yourself and your Ghost, and you're sorry?" He jabbed a finger at her. "If you apologize to anyone, you should apologize to that Reborn, who was foolish enough to follow you into danger! You should apologize to your Ghost, who ever had the misfortune of Raising you! As for me, sorry isn't going to solve anything! I know you're sorry! I know damn well how much sorrier you're going to be when I get through with you! The Light itself can't save you from what penances are coming, you little dolt!"

By the Light, Shenu was mad! His normally pale face was flushed in rage. Spittle flew from his mouth and hit the desk. Zinnia cringed in her chair, feeling each new insult like a punch to the stomach.

"Please, Guardian," she said, her growing discomfort too much to be able to hold her tongue — oh, _when_ would she ever learn to hold it? — "we thought the Vanguard would want to know. We thought it was our duty —"

"YOUR DUTY IS TO OBEY ME!" Shenu shouted. His voice rang off the high walls. Zinnia dropped her gaze to her hands.

Light footsteps tapped the tile floor.

"What's going on?"

Zinnia looked up into Katilyn's concerned blue eyes. She had a takeout container in one hand and a book in the other, her Cryptarchy cowl pushed back. Oh, bless the Traveler, she was on duty tonight! Zinnia wished she could convey through glances alone how quickly the woman should turn and head the other direction.

Shenu spun around, even more furious at being interrupted.

"This is none of your concern!" he spat. "Leave us!"

Katilyn stood up straight. She was not an exceptionally tall woman, but Zinnia had seen her dignified glare wither even the likes of Master Rahool.

"Please keep your voices down," she said icily. She spared a glance for Zinnia, searching for an answer. Light, she must have looked a sight with ripped vestments and all that dried blood! Katilyn was a veteran to such shocking sights however, and she also knew when she was in danger of Guardian wrath. Her frown tightened, then she turned and walked off.

Shenu took a long, shaky breath.

"Get up. We're going to the Central Study. Now."

Zinnia dared to peek at him. Were they going to train? But it was so late!

"NOW!"

Zinnia hopped out of the chair like she'd been stung and scurried past her Mentor. She didn't need to check if he was following. She could feel the thunderhead of his anger at her back as she practically ran through the Archives. His gloom chased her all the way to the Central Study inside the Tower's core, their usual meditation room. Now she'd done it. Now she'd really done it. Not even Rahool had been this angry when she'd put all that ink in the tea!

Shenu slammed the study door behind him. He was always so careful and deliberate, always so coldly controlled. She had always been unnerved by that control, and now she dearly wished for it back. Anything but this seething rage.

"What were you even doing in the Archives?" Shenu began his tirade again. "Why didn't you come straight to me after seeing Zavala?"

Light, it was so hard to stand up straight under that glare!

"I was going to drop off some artifacts," she said. She was still clutching her satchel. Shenu snatched it from her hands and began to tear through its contents. His scowl went even darker.

"Trinkets! Is this what you disobeyed me for?"

"They're Golden Age!" she protested. "I wanted to study them!"

Shenu hurled the satchel to the floor.

"You are a disgrace!" he shouted. "A disgrace to your Order and a disgrace to me! Never in all my years have I seen such an insolent, lazy, pathetic excuse for a Warlock! What kind of scholarship could an imbecile like you ever hope to achieve? If junk is what you consider a worthy cause, then I ought to take your Bond from you right now and send you to the Cryptarchs for good!"

"No, Guardian!" she gasped, suddenly filled with dread. He couldn't…he wouldn't dare! But hecould shame her. The thought of going around the Tower without her Bond, everybody knowing what it was about…it was too horrible!

Shenu rounded on her. "Channel the Void. Do it. Right now!"

Zinnia stared. She'd heard right, she just couldn't make herself do anything.

"Prove to me you're a worthy scholar of the Light!"

She did her best to control her shaking. Did her best to steady her breath and empty her mind and focus her Light. She held her palm out to the ceiling, gazed into her trembling hand. There were still smears of blood on her skin from removing her torn-up gauntlets. Much of that blood was her own.

Nothing happened. She grit her teeth, willing down the fear and humiliation. Still nothing. She could feel the Flame wanting to bloom, but that was no good. If she could just turn it, just reach the Void, just touch it for a second…

Shenu laughed. It was neither kind nor mirthful.

"I see no Warlock here," he sneered.

She let her hand drop, stared at the carpet, waited for him to make the move and rip the Bond off of her arm.

"If you will not act as one of your Order, then I will have you know what it is to not be a Warlock," Shenu said softly. "Maybe then you will learn what dignity your position entails!"

She had no idea what he meant, had no courage to ask.

"You will be here in this very spot at dawn. The Light help you if you are late."

She nodded, feeling numb.

"Get out of my sight."

She didn't need to be told twice. Poor Perdita was almost shut in the room in her haste to leave.

 **Slow down!** Perdita trilled as Zinnia ran across the plaza. **Calm yourself!**

"I can't be calm!" She rounded on her Ghost. "I can't! What's going to happen?"

 **It's all right. You know how Shenu gets. Take a deep breath and try to relax.**

"Oh, just stop it, Perdita!"

Perdita trailed after her, clicking and buzzing. Zinnia just wanted to hide. This was so unfair! She had just pulled off a feat so daring that even Cayde would buy her a drink, and now she was facing exile?

 **Do as Shenu says and everything will be fine.**

"What? No lectures?" Zinnia spat, feeling unkind and miserable and stupidly near tears.

 **I am on your side.**

"Only because you have to be!"

That was mean of her to say, she knew. She just wanted to go to sleep.

Only after she had bathed and was getting into bed did she remember she had promised to be in the Archives come morning. Now what was she going to do? There was no question that she could not disobey Shenu's command. Would Master Rahool throw a fit as well when he learned what she'd done?

For a long while she lay awake, hunkered under the covers.

"I'm sorry, Perdita," she murmured.

 **It's all right.**

"Will you stay with me if I'm exiled?"

 **You're not going to be exiled** , Perdita clicked. She was at Rest after going through her nightly ritual of straightening up garments and turning out lights. **That pompous ball of Light would have to deal with me first!**

Zinnia smiled.

 **Sleep now.**

Try as she might, sleep was a long time coming.


	20. A Reason to Change

Chelise opened her dormitory door, threw her book bag down on the little vanity counter, and shut herself in the dark room. She breathed a long sigh. Another day of classes done, and her own work just beginning. She shuffled over to her tiny bed and pulled the top blanket off, wrapping it around her shoulders. The cold night wind had chased her into the building and her cheeks were still numb from its touch. The College was being meager about heat allowances again. Surely they could stoke the boilers by just a couple of degrees. It was still winter, for the love of the Light!

Overall, Chelise supposed she couldn't argue with her accommodations too much. The price for a dormitory was on par with rentals in the Inner City, and she couldn't beat the location for convenience to her classes. And at least her windows didn't leak. Judging by Yuriy's old apartment, she thought that if only someone became a window fitter in the Foundry district, they could make their fortune. Well, they could if any tenants were able to afford the new windows — or the increase in rent due to landlord "improvements". Once she was finished with this business on the Tower and the mines, she was growing more determined to follow up on the scandal that was life in the Foundry district. How had Kemal's family ever managed before his income from the Tower?

Chelise sat on the bed and leaned her head back against the wall. The only light came from the stark industrial lamps bordering the runoff canal outside her window. They glowed against the night sky, reflecting off clouds heavy with the promise of more snow. It was the kind of night where she wanted only to burrow under the covers and get some rest, finally getting warm. Instead she forced herself to get up from the bed and sit down at her corner desk a couple of paces away. She touched her intranet terminal screen and the bright monitor flared to life, a holokeyboard appearing in the air at hands reach. A little notification in the screen's corner alerted her to new messages in her campus interlink account. A general announcement about cafeteria hours for the upcoming holiday week, a couple new installments in her group project discussion…ah ha. At the end, a message from Kemal. She opened it and read quickly. Would she like to talk with him tonight?

"Yes, I would!" Chelise murmured, smiling at the screen. This was better than she had hoped. After his first brief message that he would be in touch soon, half of her had expected Kemal to write a polite but firm reply that he would have nothing to do with her anymore. She knew he'd surely had word by now of her "incident" with Tower security. When pressed, he would have probably made excuses about how the Tower might monitor his messages and get upset at a Frame maintenance worker in communique with a lowly civilian.

Okay, so he wouldn't put it like that…but the intent would be the same, for all he tried to gently couch his reluctance in terms of "safety" and "protocol" and not rocking the boat at his new job.

Maybe she was being unkind. After all, Kemal really did need to be on his best behavior. The Tower was hyper selective when it came to hiring. The waiting list for even a janitorial position could wrap around the City Walls and then some. Kemal was extremely lucky to have his job in Frame maintenance, and nobody deserved that luck more than him. But surely that could not excuse him from a civic duty to inform the City about what was really going on up there!

None of this was meant to get him fired. If things really went down that bad, if she really stirred up a swarming Dreg's nest of trouble, then Chelise wanted the retaliation to come down on her, not Kemal. And, of course, it should come down on the Tower. It would have to stand in the Light's blinding truth eventually.

Kemal's message said he would try to contact her around twenty-hundred hours. That was in about fifteen minutes. She'd had good timing not to go to the coffee shop but to instead come straight back to her room and work. The concierge Frames could fetch her something to drink from the cafeteria. She supposed she really should be saving her glimmer for finals week, when it was hard to find a minute to even stand up and stretch let alone go get some refreshment, but tonight she needed the extra energy.

Chelise pulled up the campus Frame service on the terminal. A couple of touches later, her coffee and doughnuts were ordered. The timer indicated a wait of approximately five minutes. She flipped through newspages in the meantime, looking for any new reports on the mine disaster. New information was frustratingly slow to arrive, with each broadcasting service starting to echo each other in the drought of facts. _Mine operations are not expected to resume for at least several weeks…Injuries are still being tallied…The Vanguard has commented via Frame that Lord Shaxx's Redjacks have secured the area…_

That was all the mention Chelise could find of the Tower's involvement so far. No plans on future protection. No reasoning as to why an attack like this happened so close to the Walls in the first place. That Vanguard comment hadn't even been a comment from Commander Zavala or Lord Shaxx themselves — just a Frame sent to speak for them. Likely a stock message at that, like the kind the College sent out for drills preparing for threats from the Trinary or an invasion of Fallen. Chelise scowled at the screen. She didn't even know who members of the Redjacks were. For all the City knew, they were a completely made-up force! Just a mythical group of Guardians meant to placate the worries of civilians. If they were real, Lord Shaxx himself was almost certainly not part of that crew. There were far better ways for the Hero of Twilight Gap to spend his time than checking up on a few miners.

Chelise was pulled out of her dark thoughts by three precise knocks on her door. That would be the concierge Frame with her snacks. She closed the windows on her monitor and hurried to the door. The Frame stood at attention, draped in an apron of the College's green and gold.

"Your order, Miss Lin," it intoned cheerfully. It held out a little paper bag and a mini thermos, the items shivering in the air. Its limbs were a little shaky. The poor thing was missing Kemal's regular maintenance work.

"Thanks," she said, taking the bag and thermos and shutting the door. Thanking the Frames was a habit she had picked up from Kemal. He never claimed sentience in them, but he never failed to be polite to them either.

She delivered the food to her desk and checked the time. Kemal would be calling at any minute. She glanced around and decided to turn on the radio. Any eavesdroppers outside her door might have a harder time picking up her conversation through the music. As she was learning, it didn't hurt to be extra careful when talking about the Tower.

The coffee and doughnuts were well worth the debit on her account, finals week and low savings be damned. Chelise warmed her hands on the thermos and poured the coffee into her own little mug from home. It bore a faded picture of her sister and mother waving goodbye with the message "good luck" written on the other side. A gift given way back in her first year at the College, a little charm to get her through classes that were already far bigger and scarier than anything she had tackled before.

Her terminal emitted a series of soft beeps. Kemal's picture appeared on screen, grinning at her. The photo came from his farewell party when she, Tamara, Blair, and Inacio had managed to get him pretty drunk for once in his life. She tapped the screen to accept the vidlink request. The picture was replaced with a small video inset. Kemal sat, chin in his hands, looking down at his datapad. He smiled much like his picture when he saw her.

"Hey! Sorry I couldn't call earlier. It's been a long couple of days."

Chelise returned his smile. "That's okay. I've been busy too. I swear, Doctor Cristaldi is trying to kill us with her exams!"

"I bet." Kemal's smile was sympathetic. "My classes were already getting tough before I left. I can't imagine how bad they'd be if I'd stuck it out." He actually looked a little regretful. Was he second-guessing his decision to work in the Tower? Chelise hesitated, wanting to pry into it, and then decided against it. One thing at a time. Besides, Kemal had a way of confessing his feelings on his own eventually.

"You'd have been fine," she said.

Kemal looked away, talking to someone else and accepting a steaming mug of tea. Chelise frowned and quickly hid it. Was he in public? That did not bode well for this conversation. A young girl's face popped into view, looking over Kemal's shoulder. She had plump red cheeks, fine blonde hair bound up in a pink ribbon, and was wearing an immaculate white apron.

"This is Katie," Kemal said. "She works in the kitchens. She wanted to see what the dorms looked like."

"Oh. Uh…" Chelise shifted her monitor to give a quick view of the room. "Well, you're looking at them. They're not much."

Katie wrung her hands in her apron.

"Do you get the whole room to yourself?" she asked, eyes wide with amazement.

"Yeah," Chelise answered. She made it sound like a palace!

"You're so lucky!" the girl sighed. "I wish I had some place to call my own! I have to share a room with Sarah and Miko. I'm definitely going to apply for the dorms once I'm ready for the College!"

Chelise was taken aback. Apply for the College? Even though she already worked in the Tower? Most people were clamoring for the other way around! She filed that bit of information away for later. Maybe this Katie might want to answer some questions? But she was pretty young, and likely under a lot of supervision. It wouldn't be fair to bring her into this, would it?

"I guess the dorms would look pretty luxurious if you're used to roommates," Chelise conceded.

Katie looked away, suddenly snapping to attention.

"Yes, ma'am!" she said quickly. She gave Kemal a pained smile and scuttled away.

"Sorry about that." Kemal grinned. "I think she's kind of lonely. The kitchen staff gets worked hard and there aren't a lot of kids her age around the Tower."

"Shouldn't she be in bed?" Chelise asked. "Or doing some homework?" Light, there had to be some kind of schooling for her!

"She's coming off her shift right now," Kemal said. "Katie tells me that Mistress Ella drills her on lessons every day. There's extra dishwashing penances if her homework is late." Kemal laughed, shaking his head. "Ella is pretty formidable! Worse than my own mom!"

Kemal's mother was a force to be reckoned with, so this Mistress Ella had to be something of a tyrant!

"How was your day?" Chelise asked. She was itching to get Kemal set straight on what had happened with security, but first things had to come first. Despite their initial awkwardness, the conversation was progressing as if their discussion at The Acorn had never happened. She wasn't in a hurry to tear this fresh start down.

"Can't complain." Kemal shrugged. "We're going through overhaul maintenance on the Hangar Frames, which has been eating up a lot of time. My shifts have doubled to cover for some illnesses."

"Ouch," Chelise winced. "I bet you're looking forward to that being over."

"I don't know," Kemal mused. "The Tower kitchens are open at all hours and there's always someone around to talk to if I get bored. Besides, there's some time to study between diagnostics."

"Study?" Chelise asked. "Are you going to take a correspondence course with the College?" Leave it to Kemal to keep himself busy!

"Actually, the Cryptarchy does some tutoring," Kemal explained. "They hold classes for any school-age children living in the Tower, but sometimes they can teach adults too. I thought about taking a couple of engineering courses to stay sharp."

"That's great!" she said, genuinely pleased that he could keep up on his studies after all. Kemal had always been a good student, and he seemed to love the academic life. Leaving the College had been a very hard decision for him.

"Will it be very expensive?" she asked.

"That's the best part," Kemal grinned. "It's free! Can you believe it? I don't know how Master Rahool can afford to do that. Well, I guess it helps that his Order basically just teaches what they know. It gives them a chance to practice while helping others."

Blessed Light, a free education from a Cryptarch? Kemal would be a fool not to jump at that! How could the Tower get so many things right — free housing, education for its workers, fair wages — and still be so utterly careless with the City at large?

They chatted idly a few moments more before falling into silence. Kemal took a sip of tea and glanced around the room. She couldn't see anyone behind him, but she doubted he was entirely alone at the moment. Chelise knew she had better get down to business. There was no sense in putting off the inevitable.

"So…did you hear anything from Lei?" she asked, trying to keep her voice neutral. Already she was blushing. She brushed her hair behind her ears before she could start toying with her bangs. That would be a dead giveaway to Kemal that she was still upset about it.

"Uh huh. She was…kind of worried."

Chelise shrugged. "I thought she would be. It really wasn't bad though."

"She said you were asking questions at the gondola," Kemal lowered his voice. "You're still putting a lot of work into this mine thing, aren't you?"

"I am. I was hoping we could discuss it in a little more detail..?" She hoped the volume wasn't up very high on his datapad.

Kemal glanced around again.

"Let me go back to my room," he said. The view from his datapad swung crazily as he picked it up, showing Chelise a large room filled with long tables and benches.

"It's not far," Kemal said, his face coming into view again. He held the datapad facing himself so he could talk as he made his way through the halls. "We're near the top of the Tower," he said, as though he were taking her on a grand tour. "The cafeteria I was in is just a little ways down from the plaza where the Vanguard Hall is located."

"You look like you know your way around pretty well," she said.

"When you run around the Tower as much as I do, you learn quickly," Kemal grinned. "Thank goodness for the high-speed elevators."

She couldn't see where he was walking — her view was mostly of his chin — but the picture was suddenly obscured as he pressed the datapad to his chest. For a few moments Kemal went quiet. Then his face jumped back into view.

"I've gotta keep this chat hidden," he whispered. "I'm not really supposed to share inside looks at the Tower with civs. But I figure you're okay!" he grinned.

She smiled back, pleased he would still take her into confidence.

"Why not?" She couldn't keep herself from asking, even though she was sure she could guess the answer.

"Security reasons," Kemal said. "Don't want any Trinary knowing the layout of the Tower, or risk the Fallen intercepting a signal."

"I'm beginning to think it's a wonder they even let you go outside," Chelise said dryly.

"It's not as bad as I make it sound. I just don't want to step out of line, you know? It's bad enough thinking about losing this job. I don't even want to know what a formal reprimand from Commander Zavala would be like!"

Kemal pressed the datapad to his chest again. Chelise sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.

 _You're afraid of the Vanguard!_ she thought. _Are they so unreasonable?_ She knew it was a futile question. Kemal was already taking a risk just talking to her about what she'd done. He was too good to be caught up in any questioning of his own. He just wanted a safe, comfortable job, something to help support his family. Getting him involved could put all of that in jeopardy.

She heard the ding of elevator doors opening, could hear Kemal stepping into the car. His face briefly appeared. He put a finger to his lips and jerked his chin to the side, then pressed the datapad back against his chest. She had no idea what he had been trying to point out, but she watched silently.

"The Light keep you," she heard him say.

"And you," a man's voice replied.

Darkness. Chelise fidgeted in her chair. Slowly, light crept back onto her screen. Kemal was inching the datapad away from him, trying to look nonchalant. The top of the elevator car was all she could see at first. Then, the edge of a face, from below. A man with large eyes and dark, curling, shoulder-length hair that brushed a high, heavy coat collar. He looked to be hardly into his thirties, though there was something about his features that made it hard to pinpoint how old he was exactly. The man was looking down at something, probably a datapad of his own. Kemal tipped his screen a little further, shifting his stance. The long coat the man wore was a richly patterned crystal blue, too fine to be just a winter garment. Chelise was confused. What was Kemal so interested in her seeing? The coat was nice and all, but…

The man's left arm slid into view. A brilliant, shining circlet encompassed his bicep. She caught the holoimage of a hawk in flight poised over the gold band. Her eyes widened. The datapad shifted back to Kemal's chest.

A Guardian. Kemal was standing in the elevator with a Warlock.

Chelise shook her head. It was hard to believe, even though she'd just seen it with her own eyes. She felt a little thrill, and at the same time, a wave of worry. Blessed Light! Kemal had just told her that he wasn't supposed to be walking around with a vidchat, and now he was trying to get her glimpses of Guardians! She didn't know whether to applaud his gutsiness or to tell him off once he was out of the elevator. She waited, absently chewing on her bangs and listening to the elevator's hum.

A Guardian. He'd looked so…normal. Handsome, even — he would give Denish Alton a run for his glimmer! — but otherwise, take away the Bond and she might not have known what he was. The only Guardians she had ever glimpsed were ceremonially dressed in full polished armor, wearing only the most elegant Cloaks and Marks and Bonds. They were only present at the most dignified City occasions. It must have been mind boggling for Kemal to see them walking around like anybody else, close enough to touch. She wasn't sure she would be so calm as he was now. Maybe he hadn't been, at first. Kemal had always been shy and nervous. Maybe this was why he'd seemed so changed when he'd come to The Acorn. More confident. The pride of his work, and the effect of rubbing shoulders with Guardians.

She heard Kemal leaving the elevator. His face came into view again while he swiped his keycard at his residence door. The door clicked shut behind him. Lights flared overhead.

"Okay. We can talk now," he said. He situated his datapad on a table where he could sit in front of it. Chelise could see a small sitting room and a modest vidscreen, a weathered bookshelf from his old room at his house, and a couple of nicked wooden chairs. His band posters were hanging on the walls. That made her happy. He had changed since going to the Tower, but not completely.

"You've got a room to yourself?" she asked.

"No," Kemal shook his head. "But Etienne is on overnights right now, so we won't be disturbed."

"You're not crammed three to a room like those girls?"

Kemal laughed. "That's for the younger residents. Those who don't have parents are grouped in classes so they can be watched over. Most of us workers have just a single roommate, though some of the more senior staff get their own place."

"I guess that's incentive to hang in there," Chelise shrugged.

"Totally. Priority goes to Guardians, though. They need a place to get away. Those that want to stay in the Tower, anyways. I guess Hunters aren't very likely to keep rooms for long. Still, we have to make them available." He talked about Tower life as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He really had acclimated nicely.

Kemal sipped the tea he had brought with him. She could see the tag more clearly now. It was a fine blend, something he would not have been able to afford before he came to the Tower. His datapad seemed to be handling the vidchat well too. Apparently he was making enough to upgrade from the cranky low-tech version he'd carried through the College. Other than those little changes, he didn't seem to be splurging with his new income. He hadn't bought fancy wrist IDs or the trendiest clothing, and hadn't even mentioned saving up for a car — though she supposed that wasn't necessary now that his work and home were in the same place.

He really deserved to buy whatever he wanted, to experience the luxuries that she and their friends took for granted. But it seemed Kemal was going to keep on being Kemal. Only getting what he needed to get by, to be just comfortable enough. He'd never grumbled about it before, and it didn't look like he was going to start now.

Chelise sat back, drawing her feet up onto her chair.

"Okay, Kemal. Tell me what you're thinking."

Kemal's smile disappeared, replaced with a worrying sadness. Her heart pounded. Of all her friends, his opinions had always meant the most to her. Kemal never could mince words well. His slow, thoughtful nature tended to make people think he was slow himself, but Chelise knew it was just him considering a problem from every angle, taking his time before he made a decision. If he had something to say about her questions, then he'd likely spent all day thinking about it before calling her.

"Lei was really worried about you," he said. "And so am I. What were you saying to get security on your case?"

She wanted to put up her defenses and claim innocent questioning only. But they both knew better than that.

"I was just trying to understand how people felt about being part of the Tower. If it was really as good as everyone says it is."

"You don't believe me?" Kemal asked. "I'm not making this stuff up! It's really fantastic here."

"I do believe you," she said. "I just don't think you've been there long enough to have the whole story."

"The whole story?" Kemal looked puzzled.

"What I mean is…maybe you've still got stars in your eyes about being at the Tower. Other people who have lived there for years might have a different opinion."

Kemal's puzzlement remained. She could see that she had offended him, though he was too careful to show it beyond a glint of hurt in his eyes.

"You could be right!" she said quickly. "Maybe everything really is great for everybody. It doesn't hurt for me to ask, does it?"

"I guess not." Kemal shrugged. "But it sounds like however you're going about it is making people upset."

"It is," she said. "Which makes me wonder even more."

"You might get in even bigger trouble if you keep this up," Kemal said. "I don't want you getting banned from the perimeter or anything!"

"I'm prepared to accept the consequences," Chelise said quietly.

"Are you?" Kemal's dark eyes were very worried now, and still sad.

"What, do you think the Vanguard is going to come after me?" Chelise laughed, trying to sound unconcerned. If only she really felt that way! "Maybe send a few Titans to rough me up and make me stay quiet?"

"No! Of course not! They – they wouldn't do that!" Kemal's look was aghast. "The Vanguard aren't thugs, Chelise. They're Guardians!"

Chelise bit back her irritation. Her offhand joke had just offended him further rather than easing his concern. Kemal was devout when it came to the Light's Truth, even more so than herself. He had relaxed a little once he'd started hanging around with their mutual friends, but he hadn't ever completely given up his cherished views. Implying any wrongdoing by a Guardian was a serious accusation in his eyes. Light, it still wasn't easy even for her to think about!

"I know they're not," she said, wishing she could truly believe that. "So then what do I have to worry about?"

"What if people call you Trinary?" Kemal asked. The word sounded like cold slop in his mouth. Chelise felt a chill.

"Call me Trinary for asking a few questions?"

"You know how people get. Any criticism of the Tower at all is enough to raise suspicion."

"I can't stop something I believe in just because I'm afraid of being misunderstood."

Kemal rubbed the back of his neck. "Isn't it bad enough that security picked you up the other day?"

"I'm fine. They let me go. No harm done."

"Somebody got suspicious," he said. "Suspicious enough to have you questioned."

"That's their problem, not mine," she shrugged.

"It will be your problem if you're put in the brig," Kemal said, voice solemn. "Do you really want an inquisition by the Consensus on your records?"

"Maybe," she said stubbornly. "If it will get me some answers, maybe that's what needs to happen!"

Kemal shifted uncomfortably, shocked into silence for a moment.

"You really do believe in this, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes, I do."

Kemal was silent again.

"Look, Kemal…I know how you feel about the Tower. That's okay. Really, it is. I came to you not to convince you to change your mind, but to…well, to give me a reason to change mine. Can't you see any? Is it really everything we always heard about as kids? Does the Tower hold to the Light's Truth the way Lei-5 taught us? Tell me, Kemal!"

For a while, he didn't answer. He just kept staring away from the screen. Chelise struggled to stay patient. This was a mistake. Kemal wouldn't ever agree that the Tower could do any wrong.

"I think it's possible that the Tower is not completely infallible," Kemal said quietly. In the light of the vidscreen, he suddenly looked very tired.

Chelise tried to hide her surprise. Possible? That meant quite a lot coming from him.

"Anyone can stumble," he went on. "Lei has never claimed that a Follower of the Light can't make a mistake."

"And the Guardians?" she prompted.

"I don't get to speak with Guardians a lot," Kemal said, looking at his hands on the tabletop. "I can't tell you what they think of the Truth. Or if they even think of it at all."

She watched him closely. Kemal had never wavered in his belief that the Guardians were the Truth incarnate. These admissions seemed to pain him. She was surprised to find that they pained her too.

"But I do think that they hold to the Truth, whether they know it or not," Kemal said, his voice gaining quiet certainty. "Guardians can't be anything but for the Light. It's what they're made from! Even more than you and me. I can see it in them, Chelise. I don't know how well it comes through on a vidscreen, but…if you're even just standing next to them, or looking into their eyes…Chelise, it's…I've never been so close to the Truth as I am here!" The smile blossoming on his face was of a man transformed, alight with the memory of reliving some encounter he'd had.

"How can you explain the attack on a mine the Tower holds so dear?" Chelise pressed. She was at once profoundly intrigued and jealous by whatever Kemal had witnessed.

"Accidents happen, 'Lise," Kemal said. "Sometimes things happen that even Guardians can't control or predict. It's the will of the Light."

"Did Lei tell you that?" Chelise said before she could stop herself. His answer was so remarkably close to what the Flame's had been on the morning of her questioning.

Kemal's smile disappeared.

"I can think for myself, Chelise."

"Can you?" she challenged, her frustration boiling over. "Or are you so overwhelmed with your experiences there that you can't see anything you don't want to?"

"How can you say that?" Kemal asked, eyes full of hurt.

"You don't want to find anything wrong!"

"Of course I don't!" Kemal cried. "Unlike some people, I'm not looking to tear down my faith!"

She hesitated, feeling a humiliated blush rising. That comment had stung bitterly.

"I'm sorry," Kemal said quickly.

"It's okay," she lied.

"You don't understand," Kemal said. "You don't get to see Guardians the way I do. They really are just like we've been taught. They really are the Light Blessed. They're different. Thank the Light they're here for us! I would never want to have to oppose a Guardian! Even if I wanted to ask questions, I'd be too afraid!"

"Is that how the Vanguard wants it to be?" Chelise asked softly. "Do they want you to live in fear?"

"We should have a healthy respect!"

"Whose position is that? Yours or theirs?"

"Mine!" Kemal cried. "Because that's what I'm supposed to do!"

"And what have they done to earn that respect?"Chelise growled.

"Listen to yourself, Chelise!" Kemal was so frustrated he began to laugh. "Listen to what you're saying! What have they done for us? They make the City possible every day of our lives! They keep the Darkness outside the Walls! They fight for us!"

"Isn't the Darkness also inside our hearts?" Chelise challenged. "They can't keep that out!"

"That's up to the individual," Kemal countered. "We have free will. The Guardians don't control us."

"Can't the Guardians have Darkness in their hearts too?" She almost couldn't get the words out. She knew what kind of a sensation it would cause with Kemal. There was a strange thrill in finally being able to say it.

"No, they can't!" he said firmly. "They aren't like us!"

"How do you know?"

"I live with them, Chelise. You want insider information? Well, here it is! I've seen nothing but the heroes and legends we've grown up with. They talk like us, they laugh like us, the organics eat like us, they even dress like us! But they aren't us. They don't suffer what we suffer. They know their place in the Light. Whatever actions are making you suspect the work of the Darkness is simply because we can't always understand the will of the Light!"

They looked at each other through the vidchat, brows furrowed, faces tense.

"So I guess you're not going to help me find answers." Chelise said.

Kemal sighed.

"No. I'm not."

"Fine."

They sat in silence. Chelise glowered at Kemal. Kemal lowered his eyes and glowered at his mug.

"I'm sorry you're going through this," he said quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Your faith. I'm sorry it's been tested so hard."

"Don't be." she said. "Maybe it's better this way."

His look of worry was so genuine she was almost afraid for herself.

"Chelise, if you need to talk…you know I'm right here. I do want to help you. Just…not to destroy yourself."

An offer just like from Lei. She dearly wanted to take him up on it, to make amends, to just have things back the way they were. But she couldn't. How to explain it? They could only argue endlessly about what one could see and the other could not.

"I do need to talk," she replied. "About things you don't want to say."

"But your faith —"

"I'll worry about that."

Silence again.

"It's getting late," she said. "I need to go. Early classes."

He nodded.

"Yeah. Me too. Morning shift."

The vidchat went dark, their second reunion thoroughly spoiled. Chelise jabbed the controls to set the terminal into sleep mode and sat in the dark with her arms wrapped about her knees. After a moment, she fished the Truth pearl from under her sweater. She turned the smooth white sphere in her fingers a few moments, then slipped the chain over her head. She went to the windowsill where her jewelry box sat. The round container was carved from fine wood and inlaid with pearl. A gift from Kemal for her entrance to the College. At the time, she hadn't known how much it must have cost him to buy that. Now as she looked at it, her eyes filled with unexpected tears.

The Light's Truth! She'd always heard faith was hard. And suddenly she was a traitor for taking that hard path! Well, if the Truth did not mean seeking the truth…!

Scowling, she opened the little box and dropped the necklace inside. The pearl clinked against old rings and ear studs. She shut the lid and swiped at her eyes with her sleeves.

There.

She felt strange without it. But hadn't she already taken it off a long time ago? She stood at the window, paralyzed with indecision. Her fingers remained poised on the jewelry box lid. What did that small act of defiance mean, really?

She let her hand fall. The pearl wasn't gone. It was just…waiting. Waiting for her to find the reason to pick it up again and wear it without fear. If she was going to go through with this, if she was going to say that she was unafraid to question, then she had better not be afraid to show it.

Chelise turned from the window. She searched the room, looking for something to distract her. The image of that Warlock popped into her head. Would she be able to look him in the eyes and ask him to explain himself? Would she be able to do what Kemal could not?

She had only ever been near a Guardian once, as a small child. It was one of her earliest memories. The Festival of the Gap, when her father had been lucky enough to get his family into the ceremonial crowd. She could barely remember anything of the day except the streams of rose petals falling from balconies, the sound of drums…and a Hunter's cloak, just inches from her small fingers. She'd reached out and touched the fabric, childishly fascinated by the rich cloth. The next thing she'd known, her father had whisked her into his arms and held her tightly. Hugged against his neck, he admonished her. What the Hunter thought of her boldness, if they had ever known of her transgression, she never learned.

She sat at her desk again, cracking neglected textbooks and scribbling notes until she could hardly keep her eyes open. Once in bed, she dreamed fitfully of petals and drums, and Kemal snatching her hand from the handsome Warlock's Bond. Her necklace broke, the pearl bouncing along the street to be crushed under a Guardian's boot.


	21. Her

Ghost designation Ushabti could not Rest. He was at Rest, constantly checking in on his Guardian's vitals, though this was nigh-instinctual after their long years together. He didn't even need to devote full processing power to the scans anymore, not like when he was a young Ghost and so worried about getting everything right. Now he would be able to feel any deviations before his sensors could even fully detect them. Guardian Shenu never quite believed it, but it was true. A Ghost knew their Guardian from the inside out. A Guardian was an extension of a Ghost's Light and being.

It was deep in the night, and Guardian Shenu was sound asleep. His dreams were calm, which foretold a better morning for them both. Ushabti used to try and slip into those dreams once. It was a silly effort — no known Ghost had definitively reported being able to read dreams — but it used to comfort him to think that he could be so close to his Guardian's closest secrets. He didn't think Guardian Shenu knew of those efforts. He was certain that he wouldn't approve.

Things were easier at Rest. There was great freedom in shedding corporeal form and existing as a melding of his Guardian's Light. Raw processing power decreased. His thoughts even felt free from the more linear constraints of matter. Guardian Shenu often chided him for what he called two-dimensional thinking, instructing that matter only constrained so much as one wished it to. Despite being part and parcel of his Guardian's very existence, Ushabti could not wrap his mind around the concept like Guardian Shenu could.

At Rest, his thoughts traveled in filaments of unseen Light, part of a web that he imagined was glistening and vast, stretching throughout the Tower to every Ghost and Guardian. Stretching out into the universe. If he listened, if he simply let himself be, perhaps he could find the Light of all creatures.

Perhaps he would find _her_ Light.

It was because of _her_ that Ushabti could not Rest. Only recently could he even begin to admit that to himself, and the thought still filled him with pain and confusion. What was happening to him? He wanted to be a good Ghost. He wanted to take care of his own Guardian, just like he was supposed to. Just like he had always done. He didn't want these new, terrifying feelings intruding into his existence.

But he couldn't help it. He wanted another Guardian.

The very idea was sacrosanct and deeply shaming. He could actually note the drops in his own diagnostics whenever the thought crossed through his circuitry, so overwhelmingly distressing that it was. It should not be. It could not be.

Guardian Zinnia was the most wonderful thing he had ever encountered. Her Light was a brilliant sun, a new Sol, that warmed him every time she was near. It made Guardian Shenu's Light seem somehow less bright, less sustaining. But that was impossible! Guardian Shenu's Light was hisLight! They were inseparable! One could not be distinguished from the other! Every Ghost knew that.

Ushabti had tried to tell himself that these feelings were a trick or an illusion. The product of failing circuitry or too many Restless nights. He was getting old, after all.

They would not stop.

Just this evening, upon her return from the Cosmodrome, he had felt Guardian Zinnia's presence before she had even reached her desk in the Archives. It was like a springtime day on his fins. It was like the joy of that very first resurrection, when he had made his purpose come to life and his Guardian had smiled up at him.

Guardian Zinnia had smiled at him tonight. She'd had blood all over her face and her vestments. He couldn't help but send a surreptitious scan over her. Ghost designation Perdita was a good Ghost, but one could never be too careful. She was a young Ghost, as these things went. Perhaps she had missed something. The sight of the blood had agonized him in a way that it hadn't for a very long time. Ghosts became less sensitive to the rigors of battle through long experience. Seeing those rigors taking their toll on Guardian Zinnia had made him feel like it was his very first battle all over again.

What creature had dared to hurt her? The thought made him prickly with anger. He would zap them until their hair stood on end! He would send a pulse of Light to knock their teeth out! He would — !

Guardian Shenu grunted in his sleep. His agitation was bleeding through, marring his Guardian's peaceful slumber. He needed to calm down.

Ushabti made an effort to settle himself. He listened to his Guardian's heartbeat and dissolved into it. A long time passed where he simply existed as Guardian Shenu, as close as blood, as vital as breath.

Inevitably, the shameful thoughts returned.

Would Guardian Zinnia's heartbeat sound so soothing? Couldn't he protect her even better than Ghost Perdita? Perhaps she wouldn't have been hurt in the first place if he had been there. Ghost Perdita…oh, he was not jealous of Ghost Perdita! No, no. There was no reason to be jealous of another Ghost! That would just be ridiculous!

But…couldn't she have prevented those injuries? She must have overlooked something. She must have given an incorrect reading of hostile signatures. She must have confused her Guardian with needless chatter or troubled Light and emotion. A Ghost had to remain as calm as their Guardian in the heat of battle. Even calmer.

As if he could have remained calm. The Hive were spreading on Earth once more. This was a disaster. This was a bad thought-fiction come true. Guardian Shenu was not willing at first to believe the reports from Guardian Zinnia or the newly Reborn. Ushabti hadn't wanted to believe them either. Yet Vanguard Commander Zavala would not lie about such things. His Ghost would not lie. Ushabti had received the intelligence straight from them.

Any doubts he'd tried to entertain were lost when he'd seen Guardian Zinnia in the Archives. He knew that hunted look in her green eyes. He knew that spike in heart rate, that tiny quiver of fear in her muscles that no sense of pride at defeating those creatures of Darkness could totally erase. He was so proud of her! So very proud to hear she had destroyed them. And so very terrified to think of how close he'd come to losing her, without ever knowing.

She was so brave. Not like the quivering, useless mote of Light he was.

Guardian Shenu rolled over and groaned. Ushabti admonished himself. Stupid, foolish Ghost! Thinking of the Hive was the worst thing he could do right now! It was no use worrying. There was nothing to be done tonight except to watch over his Guardian. From here o out, he would be a good Ghost and contribute to a peaceful night's sleep. He would monitor the minute workings of cells that labored to put things right in Guardian Shenu's body after a day of existing in the flesh and make sure everything was functioning optimally — despite the fact that Ushabti could recombine him, atom by atom, over and over and over again, that his Guardian was free of the mortal cycle that civilians could not escape.

He slipped into his favorite thought fictions of guiding Guardian Zinnia to victory in the Crucible. In these scenarios she would win against anyone, including Guardian Great Dane and his team. Guardian Lord Shaxx would be so pleased to see the Warlock's victory at last that Guardian Zinnia would thank Ushabti for the Crucible Handler's favorable notice. She really seemed to like Guardian Lord Shaxx. She gave her nice smile to him all the time, and sighed over his lack of notice. If he were Guardian Lord Shaxx, he would make sure that he memorized that smile every day. If it was possible for him to be jealous of a Guardian, then Ushabti was quite jealous of Guardian Lord Shaxx.

But of course he wasn't jealous. Oh, no! It was good and fine to be a Ghost! Ghosts didn't need the affection of any Guardian that wasn't their own. They didn't even need their own Guardian's affection. They only needed to care for them and support them in their duties. That was a Ghost's purpose, and it was good enough. It had to be good enough. The Traveler had borne each of them for one Guardian. There were no mistakes in the choosing. When Ushabti thought about his choice, he knew it was not a mistake.

Therefore, these feelings were just shadows and fallacy. They could not be real. They could not harm his bond with Guardian Shenu. He would simply have to watch out around Guardian Zinnia. He could't allow his distress to upset Guardian Shenu. That would be unkind, and he would be negligent in his duties. If he could not be one of the great Ghosts, he would be a good Ghost.

Maybe he could ignore Guardian Zinnia for a little while. Maybe he could request to go somewhere else during her lessons. Would Guardian Shenu suspect anything if he left the room whenever she was near? Did he suspect anything already?

Guardian Shenu sighed and very nearly woke. Ushabti silently berated himself. No more thinking tonight. He had to try and Rest completely. Morning was only a few hours away and Guardian Shenu would be rising early.

Ushabti considered the Light web. The web of interconnectedness, the web of all creation. He let his Light play upon it, slowly drifting outward. He considered the hubs of the web as another being — Ghost or Guardian, or even creatures like cat designation Ebla — and their passing curiosity was sparkling dewdrops. The whole construct really was far too complex for even his circuitry to truly comprehend, but thought exercises like these from the Warlocks helped soothe him, and that would keep him from disturbing Guardian Shenu.

In the morning, Guardian Zinnia would begin serving penances. Guardian Shenu was not at all pleased with her engaging the Hive instead of retreating. She was going to be very upset. She was already very upset — oh, the way Guardian Shenu had raged at her would make anyone fearful! Ushabti had wanted so very badly to comfort her, to let her know he thought she had done well. He could do no such thing. Guardian Shenu was her Mentor, and he knew best. Ushabti just wished that it wasn't so hurtful to witness her punishment. Couldn't Guardian Shenu be a little more lenient? Surely such anger was only necessary for a miserable Ghost like himself!

Guardian Shenu woke. He sat up in bed, mumbling about penances, looking around the dark room with sleep-blind eyes. Ushabti was struck through with humiliation. Now he'd really done it! Stupid, foolish, useless Ghost!

"Ushabti…?" Guardian Shenu called, voice thick and groggy.

 **I'm here!**

Guardian Shenu sighed and lay back down on his pillow.

 **Shall I get you anything?** Ushabti asked, hoping to make up for his blundering mistake. Guardian Shenu only rolled over.

Ushabti left his Rest. If he couldn't be calm now, then he would just have to be apart from his Guardian until he could be.

 **I'm going to do some more research on the Void** , he said. He really wasn't sure what he was going to do for the remainder of the night. But he needed to give Guardian Shenu a chance to sleep!

Guardian Shenu's only answer was a grunt. Ushabti hovered close to his Guardian's cheek, studying his features, letting vitals information wash through his processors again. Guardian Shenu's stress levels were elevated from his awakening. Not enough to cause severe consequences for his health, especially if he could get back to sleep quickly, but it disappointed Ushabti all the same. If only he could stop being a nuisance and go back to the way things had been long ago! Before Mare Imbrium. Before he'd proved his cowardice and stupidity to his Guardian. To everyone.

"Ushabti!" Guardian Shenu groaned, turning over again. "Light, your fins tickle!"

Ushabti left the room before he could make things any worse.


	22. Bravery Alone

Quarrel saw Great Dane in the Hangar lounge too late to avoid him. Restlessness had driven her to crisscross the Tower for two days now, drifting from the gun range to the Archives to every hidden nook and cranny she could find in an attempt to outrun her disappointment at being grounded from the Cosmodrome. Zinnia was nowhere to be found in the Archives, much to her surprise. When Ghost had sent a query to Perdita yesterday asking for Zinnia's whereabouts, Perdita had reluctantly grumbled something about "penances" from Shenu — whatever that meant.

She had just paused outside of the Speaker's Chamber, longing to consult with him and turning away due to a line of petitioners, and found herself gravitating to the Hangar. Commander Zavala had not said she was stuck in the Tower. He'd only forbidden the Cosmodrome without a senior Guardian present. But the Cosmodrome was where she wanted to go, and the Guardians of the Tuesday night crew were all busy at the moment.

So she was wandering the Hangar, contemplating a flight to anywhere, when she descended the stairs to the Hunters Lounge and found Dane. The tall Hunter was alone this time, sitting at his ease on one of the sofas and fiddling with a gauntlet. A few other Hunters gathered on a sofa far in the back, talking and laughing. The Lounge was otherwise quiet. She had the feeling that morning hours were not the time to look for excitement here.

Dane looked up out of curiosity when she entered. Their eyes met. His trademark smug grin spread across his lips.

"Hey, fresh meat! What brings you here?"

She thought about turning around and decided that would probably only make things worse.

"Just something to do," she shrugged, stepping down the ramp into the Lounge. Dane kept working, fingers passing over the gauntlet knuckles. He seemed to be adjusting their flex, joint by joint.

"A little downtime after taking on the Hive?"

He had heard about that? She shouldn't have been surprised. Whispers had been following her ever since she and Zinnia had reported to Zavala. News really did travel fast in the Tower.

"I guess so."

Dane didn't lose his grin.

"I gotta say, I'm impressed by what I've heard," he said. He actually did not sound ironic this time. "By all rights you shouldn't be standing here today. You must have some wits about you to deal with the Hive and live to tell about it. Of course, the Golden Gun helps too."

She stopped near Dane's sofa, watching him work. She almost expected Ghost to pipe up, correcting Dane about his use of the term. He was still insisting on calling it solar offensive, claiming the Golden Gun was simply narrow Hunter coinage.

"It definitely helped," she said. There was no sense lying about it. The Wizard had not truly been threatened by her or Zinnia until the Light had come. Oh, what she would give to feel that again!

"I wouldn't believe you'd done it had I not heard the story from Gelert's Ghost," Dane said. "Some Ghosts have a tendency to embellish like their Guardians, but Gelert's won't even make a peep if she thinks something isn't true. If she's talking about you, something big definitely happened."

Quarrel felt a rush of pride, a little vindication after her disappointment. Silly, but it felt good all the same.

"Sounds like you're well on your way to choosing an Order," Dane said. "The Golden Gun is a Hunter's gift, after all."

"My Ghost says anyone can channel it."

"True." Dane nodded thoughtfully. "But Hunters have a knack for it. We've perfected the art. In fact, the Golden Gun is a Hunter."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Dane's grin grew a little more. He was happy to be able to tell her something she didn't know. He patted the sofa beside him.

"Have a seat, fresh meat. I won't bite."

She really wasn't thrilled to make herself comfortable next to him, but so far he had kept his sarcastic egoism to a minimum. How long that would last was anyone's guess. She opted to sit on the far end of the sofa. The heat from the makeshift engine boiler was a welcome relief from the Hangar's chill, supplementing the warmth of her scarf.

"Hang around the Hunters for a time and you're bound to hear the name Shin Malphur pop up," Dane said, flexing the gauntlet's little finger. "Malphur was the first Hunter to find the Golden Gun — the first Guardian to find it ever — and when he passed into the Light his gift was made available to all. So from time to time, you get a Titan or a Warlock who, just before choosing their Order and beginning their training, will call upon it. The channeling is usually pretty weak, not terribly powerful as far as Light goes. I'd call it more of a brass peashooter myself. But when a Hunter draws upon that gift, well…Shin Malphur knows his kin. Nothing will stand in the way of the fire." He glanced at her, appraising. "Not even a Wizard."

His grin said he saw the recognition in her.

"So…I'm a Hunter, then?" Quarrel asked. It seemed strange to have the decision made so quickly, taken out of her hands, yet she couldn't argue that her Light had been more than a "brass peashooter". She wondered how Zinnia would feel about her joining the Hunters. She'd been excited over the Golden Gun, but definitely seemed to be pressing her toward the Warlocks. And what about Ghost?

Dane shrugged, closing the gauntlet's fingers into a fist.

"Not necessarily," he said. "You have free will. You can choose whatever Order you'd like. Still, if Malphur's gift has found you so readily, I wouldn't ignore that." He opened the gauntlet's fingers again and slipped the glove onto his hand, testing it out. Apparently satisfied with the adjustments, he turned to her.

"Ever thrown that knife, fresh meat?"

She was confused by the turn in conversation, then saw he was looking at the shock dagger at her hip. She'd almost forgotten about it. Guardians seemed to wear at least one small weapon in the Tower, even when they weren't on their way outside the City, so she'd figured the little blade wouldn't be too much for her to keep on her. Except that it had a tendency to make Hunters do a double-take when she passed. Dane was apparently not immune to their curiosity. Well, Zinnia had mentioned a Hunter obsession with knives. They probably thought she was trying to imitate them.

"Maybe once or twice," she admitted, remembering her desperate throws against Fallen and Hive in the Cosmodrome. Nothing quite as good as the shot Dane had made in his Crucible match. She wasn't going to tell him that, though. Dane really didn't need any ego stroking.

"Let's fix that," he said, standing up and casually brushing his cloak out. It was a slim piece of cloth that reached only to the backs of his knees instead of the long, broad cascade that he'd worn the first time they had met. Perfect for not getting snarled in the wind that had been whipping the Tower all morning. He went to stand before the large yellow map stretched across a wooden frame on the Lounge wall.

"Come on over," he said. "Let's see what you've got."

Dane had her take the shock dagger and throw it the best she knew how at the map. She stood back a ways, a low table between her and the map, and gripped the inert blade in the fingers of her right hand. She took a breath and threw. The blade sailed through the air and glanced off the map, clattering to the ground in front of a sofa. She frowned and went to retrieve it.

"Okay," Dane chuckled, "at least you held it on the right end." He pointed at the shock dagger resting in her palm. "These Fallen knives are heavier in the handle, so you're right to hold the blade itself. But your form needs a little work, or else you might as well just hand it over to your enemies and ask them to stab you."

Dane positioned her a few steps further back from the wall and had her try again. Once more, the blade smacked and glanced off the map. Annoyance flared in her chest.

Dane laughed again.

"Maybe I should get you a boomerang instead!"

She retrieved the dagger, bitterly remembering Zinnia's warning about his lessons being ones of humiliation. She ought to just leave.

"You've got to throw harder than that, fresh meat," Dane instructed. "And follow through with your wrist. You're letting go of it like you're dropping a dead rat."

She tried again. The dagger bounced harmlessly. She sighed.

"You might stun a Dreg with a blow like that," Dane said.

"It stunned a Knight just fine!" she grumbled, stalking over to the sofa and snatching the dagger off of the cushions.

"Probably because it couldn't believe you missed."

She squared off to the wall, preparing to throw again. This was ridiculous. She shouldn't be giving Dane any more fuel to make fun of her. Every time she missed the shot, she was sure she was doing just that.

"Relax," Dane said. "You're way too tense. Take two steps forward before throwing this time. Imagine the point going right between the eyes of your foe. I like to think of clueless newbies in the Crucible, myself."

 _I think_ _ **your**_ _face will do nicely_ , she thought, feeling uncharitable. Still, she took his advice and thought of the Knight's three eyes. She rolled her shoulders, raised her arm, stepped forward once and again, and hurled the blade.

The shock dagger burrowed into the wood behind the map with a satisfying chunk.

"That's more like it!" Dane crowed, nodding in approval. "Now let's make sure it wasn't a fluke!"

She threw again, and the blade went wide off the first mark, sticking in the map momentarily before falling off.

"Consistency, fresh meat," Dane sighed. "Watch your target." He pulled out a knife at his own hip, a slimmer piece of work than the Fallen dagger. Its blade was a good inch longer and carved into wicked hooks.

"It's not enough to make the lucky shot," he said, and whipped his arm forward so fast the knife whistled through the air. It struck home into the map, solid as a rock. "You've got to make sure the shots aren't about luck at all." Almost too quick to follow, he reached for another knife at his belt and threw it. This one landed so close to the other that the first blade quivered. "You have to know you're going to make it every time." A third and fourth knife joined the other two in startling succession. Where was he even getting those from? They seemed to have come out of his sleeves, though she couldn't be sure. Dane inspected his handiwork. A row of four knives lined up across the map, perfectly spaced within centimeters of each other. "Or else you just lose your expensive knives," he said, sauntering over to the map. He began working the blades out of the wood. "And then we'll have no choice but to laugh at you."

His grin was anything but humble. Ah, she thought. Here comes the humiliation. To her surprise, Dane handed her one of his knives.

"Here, practice with mine. They're better made than that Fallen junk."

For the next half hour she threw blades with the Hunter, adjusting as he saw fit and — as she grew more accustomed to it — as she felt necessary. Dane had a sarcastic, biting remark at pretty much everything she did, whether the knife stuck or not, but they were more like the remarks she might hear from Tory than the sneering he'd shown at their first meeting. She wondered what that was about and whether it had anything to do with the fact that Gelert and Guinefort were not around. The other Hunters in the Lounge were not paying them much mind at all. Without an audience, Dane didn't seem to be inclined to show off quite as much. Unless there was a Ghost feed she didn't know about…

Dane made adjustments to her grip, having her imitate his throwing style that was nearly parallel to the ground. He couldn't resist demonstrating his prowess in between lessons. He would face away from the map and throw knives over his shoulder, or hurl them like a dart. All of them hit their mark. It seemed the tuition for her education was putting up with some bragging, but she had to admit she was learning a lot.

Quarrel grinned when she made two knives stick in a row, side by side. Dane's blades were easier to work with, and very beautiful to behold. They must have cost a small fortune.

"Not bad," Dane said as she retrieved the knives. "You're a quick study. I can see how you got through the Hive alone."

She looked at him curiously, readying herself to throw again.

"I wasn't alone. Zinnia was with me."

"Okay, you might as well have been alone," Dane snorted. "I can't imagine she was very much help in combat."

They took turns throwing now, trying to match each other's marks. Dane found no trouble in it, of course, looking almost bored by the exercise.

"What do you have against her?" Quarrel asked, sizing up her next target.

Dane laughed softly.

"I don't have anything against her. I'm just surprised you waste your time with her, that's all. You're not going to get very far with Zinnia clinging to you like a leech." He saw her frown and laughed again. "Take it easy, fresh meat! I'm just telling it like it is! Did you know that you taking her to the Cosmodrome was the first time anyone's asked Zinnia to be on a fireteam?"

"No," she said. She was pleased when her knife stuck within inches of his.

"Well, it was — not counting any patrols with Shenu. And there's a reason for that."

Dane's next knife split the difference between the other two blades, a truly impressive shot.

"What would that reason be?" she asked, accepting another knife from the Hunter.

"You tell me! Her combat skills are abysmal, didn't you notice? If you tell me otherwise, you're a liar."

Her indignation flared at the call out, but she stopped short of a retort. Zinnia had been quite hesitant in the fight. Slow to react. Always a few steps behind and looking a little frazzled. Scared.

Hadn't they both been scared?

"She's never dealt with the Hive before," Quarrel said. "They fight much differently from the Fallen." She remembered the Wizard's cold light and suppressed a shiver.

"I bet I can tell you exactly what happened," Dane said, waiting for her to throw. "She flailed around with that hand cannon of hers, maybe hit a couple of lucky shots, and then spent the rest of the time flinging fire at anything that moved."

Quarrel threw her knife. She had been aiming for the space between one of the three now lining the map. It was a tricky, tiny target, and of course she missed.

"There was a lot of fire, yes," she admitted. Dane smiled, pleased to have his suspicions confirmed.

"She's a one-trick Warlock," he said. "You'd think after all the time she spends with Banshee she'd be great with a weapon. But then again, I guess she's more interested in flirting than target practice." Dane attempted the same throw she had just failed. He did not miss.

Quarrel shot him an incredulous look.

"Flirting? With _Banshee_?" She couldn't imagine the little Warlock's interest in the Exo — or the other way around, really. The two were worlds apart.

"Zinnia cozies up to anyone she thinks can make her look good," Dane shrugged. "I'm sure you've heard her crying over Shaxx. He's the only person who doesn't come running to her side the moment she puts on her helpless smile. Good for him, I say. Banshee coddles her, making her weapons at a far cheaper rate than he should, and the entire Titan Order has just about made her their mascot, all because some of Swan's Host were the ones to find her. I think they just don't want to admit that they found a Cryptarch rather than a Guardian."

"What's the matter with the Cryptarchy?" she asked. She dearly wanted to try for a knife between Dane's last throw, but that was just ludicrous. She opted to throw right above the line they were making.

"Nothing at all," Dane said. "It's just not Guardian work. If Zinnia wanted to be a Cryptarch, that's fine with me. She insists she's a Guardian though, except she couldn't so much as spook a Ghost with the lights off while wearing a Festival mask. She just won't make up her mind. Does she want to hang around the Tower pulling pranks and playing taste tester in the kitchens? Does she want to cloister herself with the Cryptarchy? Does she want to fight the Darkness? She's not especially good at any of those things — except maybe the eating part — and she's not willing to put in the time to get that way. So she hops from one person to the next, looking for a piggyback ride to glory." He threw his knife right into the space she had decided against.

"Did she try to follow you?" Quarrel asked.

"Not after me and Guinny and Gelert showed her what it means to be a real Guardian," Dane grinned. "She'd been hanging about the Crucible queue for weeks, constantly talking about how she was going to try out some new trick she learned from Shenu or Banshee, but too afraid to ask anyone if she could join their team. We got tired of listening to her talk, so we decided to give her a shot and have her join us for some skirmish. Guinny sat out that day. He was the the lucky one. I've never had such a bad match in my whole Rebirth."

"What happened?"

"We spent the entire time tagging her Revival. I think we saw more of Perdita than Zinnia herself. After that match she insisted on another go, so we switched teams, made her eat her words, and finished the game quick so we could go home. She's been moping about it ever since. But has she come to me for help since then? Not a chance!"

"You can't expect her to ask for help when you make fun of her," Quarrel admonished, retrieving the knives from the map and the sofa.

"I wouldn't make fun of her if she stopped behaving like such a baby," Dane replied smoothly. "She's learned that everyone will take care of her if she just pouts long enough. Be careful — she'll try it with you too."

"She's helped me a lot," Quarrel said. "She was brave to come along with me against the Hive."

"Bravery alone isn't going to cut it, fresh meat. Brave can still get you killed. You have to have the training and discipline to succeed in battle, or brave just equals you running in like an idiot." She bristled a little under his look. The way he'd said that was perilously close to accusing her of doing just that. The glint in his eyes said he knew it. "Next thing you know, another Light has been snuffed out. It's Guardian down and a Ghost's search gone to waste. Zinnia just doesn't seem to get that. Or she's just too afraid to own up to the fact that she's scared to be a Guardian."

"It's not easy," Quarrel said softly.

"Of course it's not!" Dane scoffed. "But at some point she's going to have to get off the fence and decide if she's going to rise to the call. Until that day, she's just going to keep following you around like a lost puppy and parroting the advice of whoever she's trying to impress that week."

Quarrel handed the knives over. Dane pulled out a rag from his belt and began to wipe down the blades.

"I'm not trying to poison you against her, fresh meat. Stick with her or don't. I could care less. All I'm saying is if you're looking to get back to the Cosmodrome — or anywhere else — you might want to start looking for another training partner. Zinnia can help you with all things Tower related."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Dane sheathed one of the knives and considered her.

"That said, I'm heading for the mountains tomorrow. Going on patrol with Guinny and Gelert in the northeastern provinces. You should tag along."

They eyed each other, Quarrel trying to figure if she should accept this challenge — which it undoubtedly was — and Dane waiting to see if she would. It would be interesting to see what she could learn from being on a fireteam like his, not to mention get out of the Tower again. He'd been nice enough this morning, but the way he talked about Zinnia still left a bad taste in her mouth. She wouldn't want him thinking she was jumping at the chance to run with him.

"How about Zinnia joins us?" she countered.

"I said patrol, not babysitting!"

"I saw your skirmish the other night," she said mildly. "Surely you can handle one little Warlock. Unless that night was a fluke?"

Dane's grin turned wolfish.

"Okay, fresh meat. Invite her."

"Deal," she said. "Thanks for the lesson."

"Any time."

Quarrel took her time going up the stairs, not letting her worry chase her out. Whatever she had set them up for, she hoped Zinnia wouldn't get the raw end of the deal.


	23. Spread Thin

It didn't take much to see that Ikora Rey was losing her patience. Shenu could tell by the hard set to her mouth, the coldness in her hazel eyes, that she was already done dealing with him. Commander Zavala was not far behind. Cayde-6, that predictably insufferable Hunter, was of course no help at all. Not that Shenu had come to enlist his help anyways. Cayde's opinion was of little importance. By the way the Hunter leaned against the long table in the Vanguard Hall and insolently stared, he was thinking much the same thing about Shenu's proposal. What he wouldn't give to have Andal Brask back! He was a credit to the Order, the only merit they'd ever had!

"You have to understand," Ikora said, schooling her tone to patience with some effort. As if he were some dimwitted Novice! "Sending a full-scale assault into the Cosmodrome would likely alert the Hive that there is something worth protecting there. It would be the exact opposite of protecting Rasputin."

Shenu stood at attention, resisting the urge to pace and fume. He would remain calm. He would not let this upstart whelp — the Light help him, that's what she was and always had been! — needle him to rage.

"Are you suggesting we stand back and wait to see if the Hive discover Rasputin?" he asked. He could not keep the incredulity completely out of his tone. So be it. "Are we to just hold our breath and hope that nobody will notice? The Fallen are surely going to ground with this Hive incursion. The deeper they entrench into the Cosmodrome, the more likely it is they will find the Warmind. It's a miracle they haven't already!"

"My scouts say the Devils have their hands full fighting the Hive," Cayde said. "Skirmishes are poppin' up all over the Cosmodrome. They've effectively halted Fallen scavenging for the time being." Cayde did not sound particularly heated, only bored.

"Surely you know better than to assume that will be the way of it forever!" Shenu said. "Even if the Devils are wiped out, another House will take their place. And we can't ignore the Hive's curiosity either. They too will devour any knowledge they can get. Don't you remember the Graves on Luna?"

The Traveler save him, he shouldn't have to remind the Vanguard what kind of a threat the Hive were! Cayde remained unmoved. He pulled at a stray thread on his cloak.

"I understand what you're saying. What I'm saying is that we don't yet have a full assessment of the Hive threat. That's what I've been workin' on. It's a heck of a lot easier to get a headcount when both factions are worrying about each other rather than Guardians."

"So you'll give them time to call in reinforcements?" Shenu growled. "For Light's sake! Now is the perfect time to strike, while they're preoccupied!"

"Which may also prompt reinforcements," Commander Zavala spoke up. Shenu glowered at him. Of all the leaders in this room, he had at least expected Zavala to see reason. That the Commander had not yet leaped at the chance to secure the Cosmodrome seemed utterly out of character.

 _Because it's my idea_ , Shenu thought bitterly. _Because Ikora can't handle the shame of being set to rights by a mere Mentor she wrote off long ago! The Light knows Zavala will always jump to her defense!_ He pushed those thoughts aside with difficulty.

"One way or another, more Hive are on the way," Shenu said, looking each Vanguard in the eyes. "You know that is true. They've already tunneled into Luna like worms into a rotten apple. If we offer no resistance on Earth, then we are doomed."

"We are not saying there will be no resistance," Ikora stepped in. "Of course we need to cut off this infestation."

"Then do it!" Shenu seethed. "Quickly, before someone finds the Warmind! We are lost if Rasputin falls into the hands of our enemies!"

"What do you think we've been doing?" Cayde sighed. "Ever since that new kid and your Novice returned with news from the steppes, we've been scramblin' to set things right." He wrapped the thread around his index finger and snapped it off the cloak, depositing the string on the floor. "These two can tell you I'm all for swooping in and gettin' the job done. But in this case, I agree with Ikora — and believe me, there ain't nobody more surprised to hear those words than myself! — we have a good thing going with Rasputin's secrecy. We don't want to overturn that."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing!" Shenu cried. "Have you all lost your minds? Is Mare Imbrium so far away in your memories?"

"We remember, Mentor," Ikora said softly. "That is why we are being so careful."

"Careful!" Shenu spat, contemptuous. "This is not careful! This is timid! Cowardly!"

"What exactly do you propose, Warlock?" Zavala asked, eyes hard. "We have already said we are sending in small teams to cull the Hive. What else shall we do?"

Shenu took a calming breath through his nose. How many times would he have to repeat himself?

"Small teams are not enough. We must send a full Raid. Light, an army if that's what it takes! Wipe out the Hive and the Fallen in one blow. We've dallied around reclaiming our territory for long enough. If this is not the excuse for it, then what is?"

"You know that the Hive are not just in the Cosmodrome," Ikora said. "They've had a steady presence in the Rusted Lands for some time now. That's two battlefronts we have to deal with at the same time."

"So send two armies! What is so hard to understand about this? I can lead one. I have the experience we need with the Hive! Let me form a team and we can end this nonsense once and for all!"

"Haven't we done that before?" Cayde said. "On Luna? I don't have to tell you how that turned out."

Shenu stiffened.

" _How dare you…!_ " he breathed.

Commander Zavala held up a hand.

"Peace!" he cried, voice echoing off the stone walls. Cayde went back to examining his cloak. Ikora sighed and touched the books scattered at her place on the table, as if looking for an answer within their pages.

"Your concerns are noted, Mentor," Zavala said. "And they are highly appreciated. We understand and share your urgency. However, at this time we cannot authorize a full-scale attack. We are spread too thin as it is. Between the Rusted Lands, the Hive in the Cosmodrome, and the unrest at the mines, we can't draw Guardians to one point without suffering a loss elsewhere. The best we can do is wait a little longer for more intelligence and carefully plan our next move."

"There's nothing to plan!" Shenu protested. "Planning will only let their numbers grow!"

"We moved too hastily once," Zavala said quietly. "We will not repeat that mistake again."

Shenu flushed. So they would take turns throwing Imbrium in his face, would they?

"I continue to have eyes and ears on Rasputin," Ikora said. "Should he be truly threatened, we will know."

"At least let me gather a team to secure the Skywatch!" Shenu said. "We all know that's where Rasputin is most vulnerable to infiltration!"

"We will consider it," Zavala said.

Consider! The Light boil him alive if Zavala would give it even a second's thought! The only considering he would do would be to decide which Host of blockheaded Titans would get to blunder in — and far too late at that! They would have no idea what to look for, no idea how to work with Rasputin's complicated, touchy systems. This mission needed a Warlock. It needed him!

"Mentor?"

Ikora's hand on his arm startled Shenu out of his seething thoughts. When had she moved away from the table? The Vanguard was watching him closely, a small frown knitting her brows. The kind of frown one gave to an invalid grandfather. Shenu glanced around the room. Zavala was frowning too, and Cayde was outright staring. The trance must have come over him. Light, how long had he been standing there?

He pulled his arm away from Ikora.

"I will be very interested to hear your decision," he snapped. He gave a small bow and swept out of the Hall. Not one of them tried to stop him.

Back in his apartments, he allowed himself to give vent to his rage. Ushabti hovered in the little kitchen, cringing while he paced and fumed.

"Did you hear them, Ushabti?" Shenu snarled. "Does my opinion count for so little anymore? They aren't concerned at all with the Hive in the Cosmodrome! Those Dark-blind fools couldn't care less! Light, what a state the Tower is in! It's a wonder the Darkness hasn't swallowed us up already!"

 **It is very troubling** , Ushabti buzzed.

"Sending little scout teams…that's about as effective as sending puppies to harry a bear! We have to strike, Ushabti! I'd destroy the Cosmodrome if I had to, if that's what it took to get rid of them once and for all. I'd destroy Rasputin itself!"

 **Do…do you think Rasputin is really in danger?** The Ghost was stammering again. It never liked witnessing his anger.

"Of course I do! Were you even listening? The Hive will look for any weapon they can get to use against us. Not to mention we've known the Devils have been searching the Cosmodrome forsomething. What do you think will happen if either gain access to the Warmind?"

 **Um. That would be…um…very bad!**

"Congratulations, Ushabti! You have more sense than the Vanguard!" he cried. "What will it take for the Speaker to see that our current leadership is ineffective and lazy? What will it take for any Guardian to see that? Light, who does that Ikora Rey think she is? Patronizing me the way she does…I'd fought a thousand battles before she was even a daydream in her Ghost's circuits! Don't even get me started on Commander Zavala! Commander of what? Sunday picnics? And Cayde! The Light help me, if that sneering bastard so much as glances my way one more time, I'll skewer him to the Tower lightning rod! They're blind, all of them! Blind fools!" He swatted a book off a countertop, sending it flying into the wall. The old cover ripped free of the binding. Ushabti flinched and clicked.

Shenu grit his teeth and struggled to compose himself before he destroyed any other possessions. He would not rage like a spoiled child. He would not let the Vanguard undo him like this.

Ushabti stayed quiet and out of the way while Shenu began to boil water for tea. He didn't long to hear the Ghost's chatter, but it would have been nice to at least hear something other than his whirring fins and troubled chirps. Ushabti was too cowardly to speak up because it did not agree with him. Not once had the Ghost come to his defense. Not once had it affirmed that the Vanguard was in dire need of new leadership. There were times he thought Ushabti was just somebody else's Ghost who happened to follow him around. There were times he wished that was the case. Bad enough to have that cloudy, scarred eye staring at him all hours of the day as an unceasing reminder of Imbrium. The very least it could do would be to support him once in a while! Light, Ushabti wouldn't even let him get a decent night's sleep anymore!

Shenu prepared his tea and went to stand before the balcony window. The City below was covered in blankets of snow, huddled under the dull, flat white sky that seemed to reflect his mood. It was the kind of day for staying indoors and keeping warm. The Light save them all, that could be the Tower's motto. They had all gone soft, hadn't they? Slovenly and complacent against the coming storm.

Something had to be done. If the Vanguard would not take decisive action, then somebody else would have to step up to the challenge. It might as well be him. Hell, it had to be him! For some unfathomable reason, he seemed to be the only one who understood the severity of the situation. The Cosmodrome was being overrun. A Warmind slept beneath the feet of the Fallen and the Hive. A Warmind with no loyalties to the Tower.

He had not been sent to the Rusted Lands once the Hive had been discovered there. He knew he would not be sent to the Cosmodrome either. He also knew that nobody would rally to his cause. If Zavala or Ikora did not appoint him a fireteam lead, the teams would form without him. As the Vanguard wanted it. As everyone wanted it.

He could hear the whispers that followed him around the Tower. He could feel the stares. Poor, broken Shenu. Never quite right after the battles of Luna. They tried to coddle him with a Mentorship position, by letting him sit on the Consensus for the Warlocks. But behind his back they schemed and plotted. Behind his back they laughed. They did not respect him at all. He was an aging relic to be put in a corner and forgotten about while these children played their games, pretending they knew what it meant to be a Guardian, thinking they held the honor of those who came before. He'd trade every last one of them for his old fireteam without a thought. Those Guardians had been worth a hundred of the wretched motes of Light that bore the name now!

Something had to be done. Anything. He could no longer stand by and convince himself everything would be all right. He needed to see for himself what was happening. He needed to go to the Cosmodrome. Did he dare risk going alone? Perhaps a fireteam would only hold him back.

His tea was nearly gone when Ushabti trilled behind him.

 **Guardian? Um…I believe it's time to check on Guardian Zinnia's penances.**

That subject was the only thing that could make Shenu feel worse. The Light curse the day Ikora ever set that ridiculous excuse for a Warlock before him! He'd had her on the most shaming penances he could think of for days now in an attempt to exhaust the Void and some sense into her. He was beginning to realize Ikora had known exactly what she was doing when she'd assigned him to Zinnia. A poor, pathetic Novice for poor, pathetic Shenu. He ought to give her up.

But he wouldn't. He'd make something of her yet, if it killed them both. The Darkness swallow him whole if he was going to let the Vanguard sneer that a silly girl was enough to undo him! He'd pick her up by the collar and throw her into the Hellmouth itself if that's what it took to erase her foolishness!

Shenu paused on his way to the sink, struck by this thought. Into the Hellmouth itself…

Suppose, instead of withholding a mission from her, he actually gave her what she wanted? The stupid girl was always complaining that she wanted to get out of the Tower and join a fireteam for something other than routine provincial patrols. Oh, he wouldn't let her know it was a mission. That would just go to her head, make her think that she had done something to deserve such an honor. But if he couched it as a training exercise…

It was not ideal. She was a Novice, and a useless one at that. But she was another set of eyes and ears. And suppose her friend came along, that newly Reborn? That one was supposed to have great promise, if gossip around the Tower was to be believed.

If he could just get into the Cosmodrome and check in on Rasputin, make sure the Warmind was secure…if he could lead his Novice through the treacherous steppes and return triumphant to the Vanguard…

At the very least, he had a carrot to dangle before his errant pupil, one that might make her finally listen to him. At best, he could do himself what the Vanguard was too afraid to attempt. With Novices, this could not be an assault. But an infiltration…?

"Where is Zinnia now?" he asked.

 **In the kitchens, Guardian.**

"For her sake, that had better be where maintenance assigned her!" he growled.

Ushabti clicked and whirred, fins drawing down.

"Come!" he commanded.

Ushabti zipped to Rest. Shenu went to find his Novice.


	24. Penances

Zinnia set down the scrub brush, sat back on her heels, and rubbed her aching hands. The smell of soap and wet tile hung in her nose. The floor around her glinted with a minefield of little puddles slowly drying on the mosaic surface. For two hours she'd been going at it, scrubbing away as though her life depended on it — which, she thought glumly, it probably did at this point. Shenu would have her head on a platter if she didn't finish the task before he returned.

The penance was no small order. Shenu had set her to work in one of the North Tower's interior common areas, scrubbing an expansive atrium floor that served as a crossroads for people heading to and from studies, conference rooms, dignitary housing, and the Speaker's chamber. The colorful tile, hand-laid into an intricate representation of the Tower crest, required constant care from a small of army of maintenance workers, especially in the sleet-filled, muddy winter. Today there was no army to be found working with her. She was alone, with only a bucket and a handheld brush to accomplish her task. The brush bristles were permanently swayed in one direction, frazzled by constant use. Zinnia thought she understood how that felt. Covering the huge floor by hand was boggling enough. It was made extra difficult by having to get up and trot to the nearest service closet and refill the bucket once the suds were gone. And then there were the people.

She'd spent the first half hour of her penance politely cajoling passerby to please watch their step and move around her cleaning. After that, she'd been so fed up with travelers not watching where they stepped — she'd caught one Titan on her way back from the closet stepping right into a freshly scrubbed section with boot soles caked in mud an inch thick! — that she merely glowered until they got the hint. Even a curious service Frame, who paused to cock its head at her and watch, understood that she wished it to go about its business and take great care where it walked. It did so, but not before it stared a minute or so longer.

Oh, the staring.

Zinnia thought that if Shenu didn't kill her, the shame would. Even Perdita hadn't so much as shown a fin from Rest since she'd started. No less than six Praxics had already been by, each one watching her with bemused expressions. They just had to be telling each other to come see the Warlock Novice doing penances, she just knew it. Wide-eyed Tower pages scuttled past, maintenance workers exchanged glances with each other and shrugged, and Guardians outright laughed at her. Just a short while ago, a whole family of petitioners from the City had come through. She recognized them as followers of the Light's Truth, each one wearing a shining pearl and dressed in their finest, staring around awestruck at their first visit to the Tower. They had watched her with expressions bordering on horror, thunderstruck to see a Guardian on hands and knees doing menial labor. Even worse, when she'd pretended to not see them, the father had come to her side and stammered that he would be honored to take over the task for her! She'd been sorely tempted to let him, but the sheer embarrassment had caused her to send them away with a rather horrible smile on her face. They probably would never want to come back to the Tower ever again!

Shenu had known exactly what he was doing when he'd chosen this spot. The only place with more passerby would be the plaza itself, except for the fact that it had been raining all morning, and the freezing slush was driving people indoors.

Zinnia surveyed her work. Barring one section near the far entrance that she would have to go over for the fourth time, she was very nearly finished. She grimaced while she flexed her fingers, shaking out her hands. They were cramped and wrinkled from the water, and going a little numb. The atrium let in a lot of cold air. The skylight above showed a steady gray sky. The rain had let up in the past twenty minutes. If the clouds opened up again, she would be dealing with another storm of dirty shoes, so she had better hurry. Maybe Shenu couldn't fault her for those who tramped through her work after the fact. Maybe.

Her hands were cold, but the rest of her was a sweaty mess. Her winter vestments were far too warm and bulky for working like this. Shenu had forbidden her to change into more suitable clothing for the task. He'd wanted her to be instantly recognizable as a Warlock to anyone who witnessed her penance. For that reason, he'd spared her Bond too. He had been reaching for it as he'd started her penaces, ready to take it away. She almost wished that he had, though she knew that shame would be far worse than anything she'd endured so far.

Zinnia brushed her forehead with her sleeve, trying to get the stray hair out of her eyes, and resigned herself to finish the job. Just a little bit more, and this impossible feat would be over. She plunged the brush into the bucket, not doing well to avoid her sleeve dipping into the water, and ground her frustration into the floor with vigorous scrubbing. She was just about to pick up and move to the entrance when Shenu arrived.

The senior Warlock picked around the puddles, a black shadow in the bright, airy commons. He gathered up the edges of his vestments in distaste at the water, silver-chased boots jingling softly as he made his way toward her. Zinnia knelt with her hands on her knees despite the fact that the hard tile was very uncomfortable for such a position. Her heart sank. Would he notice that one spot she still needed to do? What would he say? Would she have to start all over again? For a few moments, Shenu just stood over her and took in the scene. She knew she did not look at all presentable at this point — hair a disaster, face shining with sweat, vestments rumpled and soggy. She resisted the urge to fidget and watched the ground with what she hoped was a suitably penitent expression.

"You've spoiled your vestments," Shenu said. "Perhaps you don't appreciate their value. Come."

He turned and walked back the way he had arrived. She sat in stunned outrage. That was it? Nothing to mention about the floor? Not even so much as _you missed a spot?!_ Then, remembering herself, she scrambled to her feet and very nearly wiped out on the wet tile. She grabbed the bucket and brush and hopped through the maze of wet and dry stone after her mentor. Outside, she immediately regretted not being more careful about slopping water onto her clothing. At least with Shenu's back turned to her she was allowed to shiver. He seemed calm this afternoon. That could just be the calm before the storm, however. She knew better than to mistake his deliberate silence for quiet contentment.

He led her to the Central Study. She stood under his scrutiny and wished for something drier to wear.

"Channel the Void," he said.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She'd been expecting this. Hoping against hope it wouldn't come, but knowing it would all the same. She lifted her left hand, too resigned to this daily humiliation to even drag her feet about it. The end result was always going to be the same: she would fail to summon the Void, and another penance would be heaped upon her. This had been the order of things for four long days since her return from the Cosmodrome.

She concentrated on her Light, focusing it in her palm, silently pleading with it. Just a little spark, she thought. Please! Anything! A tiny molecule! Something to show him that I can do this! Heat bloomed over her outstretched fingers. A little ball of flame sprang into being over her hand. Sol again. Always Sol. Comforting and warming and so familiar…and exactly what Shenu did not want to see. Better for her if nothing had happened at all.

"Incorrect," Shenu said, voice icy cold. "You are as lazy with your channeling as you are careless with your belongings." His gaze took in her sodden vestments, dowdy and rumpled compared to his fine silks. "Just because you are sent to penances does not mean you are not representing the Warlocks. Your appearance is a disgrace. Your shame is our shame, Novice. Go to your quarters and clean up. After that, you will report to the maintenance foreman on duty. Do as she instructs and return to me promptly at twenty-hundred hours. Go now. Your arrival is expected."

"Yes, Guardian," she said, clear and strong, just the way he had taught. It was a little easier to speak if she kept her eyes focused on the embroidery on his lapel or the patch of silver at his temple. Anywhere but his hard eyes. She let herself out, moving quickly and quietly.

A hot shower was almost ludicrous after how soggy she already was, but the warmth was a relief to her aching shoulders. Saladin's week-old beard, cleaning was hard work! The scrub brush had been so light at first, she didn't realize that it would weigh as much as an LMG by the time she'd finished! She should have remembered that from yesterday, when she was sent to dust corners with a mere bundle of feathers.

 **You're trying too hard** , Perdita scolded her in the shower. **The harder you grasp at the Void, the further it retreats. That's what Shenu always says.**

"As if I could forget!" she growled. "If it's so easy, why don't you do it?" Here, she could scowl and complain all she wanted.

 **Don't be absurd** , Perdita clicked. She was no happier with the penances than Zinnia was. They embarrassed her too. Well, at least _she_ didn't have to suffer the aches and pains!

" _Don't be absurd!_ " Zinnia mimicked unkindly. She scrubbed her side and winced at another angry muscle twinge. Cool washes of Light mixed with the shower's humid heat. The tension relaxed. Perdita was healing her, a sort of grudging apology. The Ghost was constantly bemoaning her inability to muster up the Void, but she was also sympathetic. Shenu had tried to forbid any healing from the discomforts of her labor.

"Is Quarrel back in the Tower yet?" Zinnia asked while she toweled off.

Perdita chirped, sending out an interlink ping for Ghost.

 **Not yet** , she answered.

Drat. She'd hoped to be able to get together with Quarrel later tonight, to see a friendly face. She could go see if Marina and Boone were back from their Pilgrim circuit…but they would just harangue her some more about fighting the Hive. Light, she'd thought Boone was going to shout like Shenu had when he found out what they'd done! Katilyn and Riva might be all right to spend time with, but they might also fuss over her — not to mention they probably would be upset at her absence in the Archives these past few days. She was supposed to be helping Katilyn with translations.

Quarrel was the only one she could truly commiserate with. Why had she gone off with Great Dane and his fireteam? She'd known the woman wanted to get out of the Tower, she just hadn't realized that Quarrel had been so desperate as to run off with that jerk! Even more surprising was that Dane had wanted her to come along as well. When Quarrel had extended the invitation, she'd thought it was a joke at first. A few nights camping out with Dane's crew wasn't top of her list for fun, but she'd do it for Quarrel. It had to be better than penances!

What could they possibly be doing out in the wilds for so long? Dane was probably trying to push her toward the Hunters, just like Tory. Well, maybe she wasn't having any fun at all. Maybe she'd left him and was striking out on her own. Was she _ever_ going to come back to the Tower?

As much as she wanted to dawdle, Zinnia hurried to get dressed and grab a bite to eat in the cafeteria. She'd tried to linger in the kitchens on her first penance at the beginning of the week, once she was away from Shenu. All that had earned her was a double shift of peeling vegetables under sous-chef Bertrand's critical eye. She hadn't even been allowed any snacks the whole time! Ella had been out with a cold that day too. The kind woman would certainly never have stood for such treatment. Somehow, Shenu had found out. Perdita had sworn on her fins that she had not uttered one word about her lateness to Ushabti or any other Ghost that might have alerted her Mentor.

The maintenance crew ceased all chatter in their break room when she entered to report for duty. They scrambled to make themselves presentable, caught off guard by a Warlock in their midst, taking feet off the table and straightening up from leaning on counters. The foreman was not so surprised, though she did give Zinnia a doubtful look.

"This is an order from Guardian Shenu?" she asked apologetically, as though she thought she had heard wrong. "Well, I wondered what he meant when he said a Novice would be coming by. It seems he was serious that you were to help. All right, Guardian. Take these rubber boots and gloves. You're going to need them."

All week long, each civilian crew she had met for penances was surprised to see her, unable to believe that a Guardian would truly be doing their work. Of course, that was exactly why Shenu was sending her among them. He believed that not only was the labor hard but that it was also humiliating. Zinnia sincerely hoped the civilians didn't catch his intended insult. Judging by their disconcerted faces, they already knew. Still, they had all treated her kindly so far. This crew was no exception.

It turned out that drainage in the Tower was quite a problem. A smelly, noxious, grimy problem. The rain and snow were getting clogged up in the gutters and spillways, choked by dead leaves and abandoned bird nests. Her gifts of Light put smiles on the crew's faces when it became clear she wouldn't need a ladder to reach the problem areas. The massive buttress spillways made her hesitate only a little — some of them really were very high up — but she waved away their harness pulleys and floated up to the slippery concrete with only a few mild oaths sworn under her breath. Mucking those spillways did afford her some spectacular glimpses of the City through shrouds of fog. It looked as cold and wet as she felt.

Inside, the plumbing was a nightmare. Old, persnickety, and backing up in more places than she could believe, she realized it was a wonder anything happened when a person turned on the tap. Here, no utilization of Light could replace rolling up her sleeves and sticking her arm up to the shoulder in a disgusting dishroom drain. It was just her luck that Ella was still out. At least this time Bertrand regarded her with a flash of sympathy. Or maybe he was just surprised his drain was being fixed. It was hard to tell with Bertrand.

Through it all, she still wore vestments and Bond. Predictably, they were soaked and muddied by the time her shift ended. If she thought she could get back to her quarters for a change of clothes before Shenu could see her, those hopes were quickly dashed. He passed by the kitchens precisely as she was leaving. Was it her imagination, or did he look especially sour this time?

"Come," he commanded, and she thought longingly of another hot shower as she followed him to the Central Study.

The Void did not appear. She almost laughed when he informed her that she would serve penances again tomorrow morning. Light, she was so tired! She never thought she would look forward to her next circuit of provincial patrols so badly in all her Rebirth! Surely this madness had to stop sometime for her real training! It was highly unlikely that Master Rahool was going to charge in and demand her return to the Archives. He hadn't said a word about her absence yet. Thinking of that made her burn with resentment. Was she really so dispensable to the Cryptarchs?

"What will it take to get you to approach your studies seriously?" Shenu reprimanded. He stood ramrod straight, glowering down at her in the light of the lantern he favored for studies. "But then I see you do not take these penances to heart, either. You look like a Hunter wallowing in his ship. My command is to keep your dignity even as you lower yourself with labor. What about that is so difficult to comprehend, Novice? Or is it that you enjoy such debasement? Perhaps I really ought to take that Bond away."

Ushabti hovered a little ways away from his Guardian, watching in silence. His bright eye fixed on her and flicked away. She knew he was sympathetic, but he would never speak up against Shenu's penances. That was all right. She didn't need anyone to fight her battles for her. She would get through this on her own.

"I've never had such a stubborn Novice," Shenu continued. "I admit I am running out of ideas! Not only are you disobedient, you simply won't let go of your clinging to Sol's Light." He watched her for a few moments, waiting for any kind of reaction from her that he could pounce upon.

"I have a mission," he said suddenly. "I am to set out for the Cosmodrome to aid in scouting. You were supposed to accompany me. I see now that I should very much rethink that decision."

She _almost_ cracked. She managed to keep her reaction to a flinch before she reigned in her desperation.

"Perhaps instead of you I will take that newly Reborn. I am told she is very strong in the Light. She could use mentoring, even before choosing an Order." Though she kept her eyes deferentially lowered to the carpet, Zinnia could still feel his gaze weighing each word's effect on her. "Yes, I do believe I will ask her. A scouting mission can accommodate a Novice, especially one I can trust to do as they are told."

Was he really going to take Quarrel and not her? Would Quarrel insist that she be allowed to join? Oh, what could she do to get on this mission?

"I will have to think on it," Shenu said. "Report to me at oh-seven-hundred tomorrow. Do not dare to be even a second late, Novice. And if you so much as breathe a word of this mission to anyone before I say so, I'll see you thrown out of the Tower in an instant!"

"Yes, Guardian!" She could barely get the words out. Was he giving her a chance? Would it be dependent on her penances?

Once she was outside the Central Study, she hustled toward the elevators with newfound energy borne of panic.

"Perdita, what do I do? I don't want to get left behind!"

 **Calm yourself!** Perdita sighed. **There's no use getting all worked up! Just report to Guardian Shenu in the morning and do as he says. That's all you can do.**

"But it's never enough!" she groaned. Maybe she could send a message to Ghost. If Quarrel knew what was going on, maybe she could find a way to convince Shenu to take her too!

 **Chin up** , Perdita clicked. **Now, let's get you out of those wet clothes and to bed. A good night's sleep will sort everything out.**

As if _she_ knew anything about a good night's sleep! How could Perdita be so infuriatingly calm at a time like this?

"How can I possibly sleep?" Zinnia protested.

 **Seven hundred hours is going to come a lot quicker than you think** , Perdita warned. **And look at you! You can't string two words together without yawning!** Zinnia tried to hide her yawn in her sleeve and glower at Perdita at the same time. **You're bone tired. I can read it in your telemetry. Go on! Into the elevator!**

"You're as bad as Marina!" Zinnia grumbled, trudging into the open car.

 **I'm worse!** Perdita clicked.

Well, there was no arguing with that!


	25. A Small Kingdom

There was no place quite so inviting as the Tower kitchens on a snowy afternoon. Kemal liked hanging around them on any given day — as much as Mistress Ella allowed it — but the warmth from the toasty ovens and the delicious smells that filled the rooms were especially welcoming to come into from the cold. Kemal stood by a brick-oven hearth, slowly warming himself from an hour of routine inspections of the outdoor service Frames. Those Frames were a blessing from the Light itself, able to do exterior work on the Tower in weather that most people wished to avoid, but somebody still had to go out and give them a looking to once in a while. Today, that somebody had been him. Now that his shift was over, he'd come to get a late lunch and bring a little something back to the break room for his crew.

Mistress Ella was back in the kitchens today and had insisted Kemal come in to speak with her instead of waiting in the cafeteria proper. He'd realized early on that not many people were allowed to enter the inner sanctum of the kitchens. Fortunately for him, he'd somehow been counted a friend. Mistress Ella regularly attended the Tower's meeting of the Flame, and that was where Kemal had met her at the end of his first week of work. Or rather, she had come up to him after the service, introduced herself, and made certain that he knew of the cafeteria's availability — and was he getting enough to eat? That was probably Mistress Ella's favorite question. No matter the answer she received, the one being asked was sure to receive an armload of food.

"Bertrand, dig into the dry cellar and see if there are any apples," Ella instructed the sous-chef. Her voice was still a little scratchy from the illness that was sweeping through the Tower. Kemal felt awkward letting them do all the work of gathering his meal when he could just as easily be pointed in the right direction to get it himself. He also knew better than to interrupt Ella in her own kitchen. This was her abode, a cozy, small kingdom that she ran with stunning efficiency. To try and take over any work from her or her staff would be an insult. One she would bear with a laugh and a smile, but an insult all the same. The first time Kemal had ever set foot inside the kitchens, he'd noted the lack of Frames. While he didn't expect them to do the cooking, they could just have easily handled the sorting and chopping. At the very least, the perpetual cleaning and dish washing. Ella would not hear of it. She claimed she had nothing against Frames, and could see where they would be beneficial. She also claimed that too much reliance on them would make her staff complacent. "Why send a Frame when people are looking for work?" she'd said. Kemal couldn't argue with that.

Bertrand gave a curt nod and swept off to the cellar, really just a humidity controlled interior room. The true cellars were down below the docks, all the way at the base of the Tower. The sous-chef was the complete opposite of Ella. Where she was round and short, he was tall and bony. Ella always had a smile on her face — even when she was "reminding" a kitchen apprentice like Katie to get to their tasks — while Bertrand always had a look on his pinched face like he'd smelled something rotten. Ella could talk your ear off, and Kemal had hardly heard Bertrand string more than a few words together at a time. Usually those words were "yes, ma'am," or the like. The only exception was if Ella was out of the kitchens, as she had been while ill earlier in the week. From Katie's reports, when Ella was away the sous-chef went running around like a headless chicken, barking orders and lamenting the apprentices from sunup to sundown. Despite all that, Bertrand had been in the Tower nearly as long as Ella herself, and the woman gave no sign of ever replacing him. Bertrand, for all his supposed moaning, gave no hint of wanting to actually leave.

Kemal stood as close as he could to the hearth without climbing inside, trying to get out of the way of a stream of apprentices and cooks. Ella was rolling out dough for what promised to be biscuits for dinner. She chattered away while she worked, the mound of dough flattening under her implacable rolling pin. Katie was nearby at one of the smaller washing sinks, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, scrubbing a load of pots and ladles from the lunch hour. Her pudgy, perpetually flushed cheeks were even pinker from the steam rising out of the hot water.

"How has work been?" Ella asked Kemal. "Have you been getting enough sleep? Are you able to have some time off for fun?" Those were probably her second and third most common questions upon meeting someone. Before she had become ill, Kemal would hardly have believed Ella ever left the kitchens, even to sleep. She worked hard, and made sure her staff worked hard too. Yet she couldn't seem to stand the thought of anyone else doing the same!

"I have," Kemal answered, stepping aside for an apprentice bearing a heavy box of vegetables. "I saw my friends from the College not too long ago," he added for proof.

"I'm so glad!" Ella smiled at him, spreading the dough to the corners of a measuring placemat. Kemal wished the memory made him as happy as it made her. Thinking of The Acorn just made him think of Chelise, which made him think of their conversation of a few nights ago. He hadn't heard from her since then. Had he been too hard on her? He still stood by his assertion that the Vanguard were to be trusted with the City's wellbeing. He was just worried about Chelise's sudden lack of faith. Surely there was something he could do to help her. But what? All she wanted was for him to find some bit of gossip or news that would undermine the Tower! She wouldn't hear of going to the Flame and speaking with Lei!

"It's too easy to get caught up in work at the Tower," Ella sighed. "So many young people here forget to enjoy themselves and have fun! And so many supervisors are willing to let them forget!"

Kemal saw Katie glance incredulously at the head cook. Fortunately for her, Ella's attention was on Kemal. The poor kid was well taken care of, but she was still just a kid who longed to be out with friends instead of cooped up in a kitchen. Even if that kitchen was as nice as this one.

"There ought to be more social opportunities within the Tower for young folk," Ella went on. She began cutting out the dough into circles. Definitely biscuits. Kemal made a mental note to be early for dinner. Ella's biscuits were as famous for their ability to disappear as much as for their heavenly taste.

"There's the Exchange," Kemal suggested. "The Hunter Lounge too." The Exchange was little more than a vending kiosk down by the docks, but the workers had set up a small seating area and so it had become somewhat of a gathering place for Tower personnel. He had to admit that the Hunter Lounge was far less frequented by civilians, even though nobody had ever forbidden them. It was just hard to relax around Guardians.

Ella waved a fleshy hand.

"Those are hardly the kinds of places you can get to know a sweetheart in!" she protested. Kemal flushed. She was onto her fourth favorite topic — matchmaking. "I'm thinking of a movie house or a gallery or the like! Blessed Light, I would open one up myself if I had the time!" She shook her head, gathering up the dough circles and dropping them onto a greased tray. "Isn't there a special someone you'd like to take out?" she asked. Katie snickered, just low enough so Ella wouldn't hear.

"I can't say that there is, Mistress," Kemal sighed. Chelise came to mind again. He tried to push thoughts of her away. Light, what was _wrong_ with her?

The kitchen door swung open. Ella glanced up sharply, immediately aware that somebody was entering her domain, ready to chase them out should they not belong. Master Rahool poked his cowled head around the door, peering into the kitchen. He caught sight of Ella and his golden eyes widened a fraction.

"Cryptarch!" Ella called, her smile returning. "Do come in!"

Master Rahool hesitated, then slipped into the kitchen. He glanced around rather sheepishly, one hand reaching up to tug on his cowl.

"Forgive the intrusion," he murmured. "I was only on my way to pick up a pot of coffee from Bertrand for the lecture."

"Why, we're always happy to see you in the kitchens!" Ella beamed. "I'll get that for you in a jiffy!" Ella bustled away from the biscuits. The Cryptarch took up a spot next to Kemal. They stood by, shuffling their feet, trying to remain out of the way of the kitchen staff. Kemal had never officially met the Master, so he didn't know quite what to say. The Cryptarch apparently felt the same way. Supposedly he was quite a taskmaster in his Order, much like Ella. He lacked Bertrand's sour expression, though his large nose and gold eyes made him resemble something of a proud hawk. It might have been his imagination, but he thought the Cryptarch was looking rather wan. Indeed, as Kemal watched, he pulled out a handkerchief from his robe pocket and swiped his nose. It seemed nobody could escape the bug being passed around. Ella returned from fixing up the coffee, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I've got a fresh pot brewing right now, if you care to wait a moment. Otherwise I can have it delivered —" she cut off, eyeing the Cryptarch closely.

"Are you feeling well, Cryptarch?"

Master Rahool was hastily shoving the handkerchief back in his pocket.

"Oh, it's nothing!" he demurred. He couldn't hide a sniffle, nor the stuffiness in his voice.

"Blessed Light! You've caught cold too! What on earth are you doing working? You ought to be in bed!"

"Really, it's nothing serious —" Master Rahool tried to protest.

"I've only just been back on my feet from that very same illness!" Ella cut in. "If you don't take care, it's liable to turn much worse! You could catch pneumonia, mark my words! Well, I've got just the thing for it." She hurried off again, the Cryptarch watching her with a decidedly sullen look.

"Please, Ella. Don't trouble yourself!" he called, to no avail. Ella was on a mission. The Cryptarch sniffled and dug out his handkerchief again. "Blast!" he muttered. He blew his nose in a honking burst.

Bertrand returned from the dry cellar, a box of red apples in hand. He glanced at the Cryptarch, raised an eyebrow, and took the the box to the table where he was laying out a tray for the Frame shop. Kemal had tried telling Ella they didn't need much, but once she got an idea in her head to take care of someone…well, he knew how the Cryptarch must be feeling right about now. Kemal wasn't going to return to the break room with just any old lunch. He might as well have ordered catering!

Ella returned with a steaming mug that she thrust at Master Rahool. Kemal caught a whiff of something astringent. It smelled like no drink he had ever encountered before.

"Drink up!" she said. "Nothing will have you feeling better sooner than fever tea!"

Master Rahool was staring into the mug as though she'd just poured him an adder. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He glanced up at Ella, realized the formidable woman was not going to budge until he took a sip, and raised the mug to his lips for all the world like he expected to be poisoned. If the smell was anything to go by, Kemal thought he just might be in danger of it. Anything that smelled like _that_ couldn't taste very good at all. The Cryptarch took a sip and, to his credit, only shuddered a little.

"Thank you, madame," he grit out through a very tight, fixed smile.

Ella nodded in approval.

"Now you drink that whole thing before you go! I'm going to send a pot along with you." She marched off to make good on her word. The look on Master Rahool's face as he contemplated the rest of the mug — it was a big one — could only be called despair.

The door swung open again. A tiny woman burst into the kitchen. A Guardian, Kemal realized with a start. The Warlock from the Archives! Zinnia, wasn't that her name? She was just as startled to see him and the Cryptarch. Her bright green eyes widened much like Master Rahool's had.

"Hi, Master Rahool!" she said, stopping short and then coming to stand next to him. "I didn't expect to see you here!" She looked very tired compared to the last time Kemal had seen her. Light, was she getting sick too? Could Guardians even get sick?

"There you are!" Master Rahool said. He straightened up, and that hawkish look was back, replacing his disgust at the tea. "Can I expect you at the Novice lecture this afternoon?"

Zinnia twisted her fingers in her vestment sleeves.

"Um…well…"

"I highly recommend it," he said. Oddly, that did not sound so much like a suggestion. He was gazing down his nose at the Warlock as if she had just done something wrong. Even stranger, Zinnia was fidgeting under that gaze as though she knew it!

"I suppose I could find the time," she said, her small smile wilting.

"Excellent," he sniffed. "I should very much like to discuss some matters of importance with you."

Zinnia wilted a little more.

Ella returned with a coffee carafe in one hand and a teapot in the other. She caught sight of Zinnia and beamed.

"Oh, Zinnia dear! I feel it's been an Age since I saw you last! What can I get for you, love?"

"I missed hot lunch," Zinnia sighed.

"Say no more!" Ella exclaimed. "I'll put together a tray for you and the Cryptarch! I take it you're both going to the lecture?" Zinnia's happy smile returned. Master Rahool tried once more to protest. "It's no trouble at all!" Ella waved his arguments away. "Now let's see, I've still got plenty of soup warmed on the stove, and I can surely round up some scones…Kemal, dear, I haven't forgotten about you. Would you like some scones to go with your meal?"

"Please," he grinned. He had no better chance of deterring her than the Cryptarch.

Now the three of them stood by the hearth. The narrow aisleway was getting quite crowded. Bertrand went back to his work of chopping vegetables the apprentices brought in and stirring simmering sauces. Katie kept turning about from the sink to sneak surreptitious glances at the Guardian.

"So…what's the lecture going to be about?" Zinnia asked the Cryptarch.

"Transmat theory," he answered, back to contemplating the tea in his hand.

"Again?" Zinnia frowned. "I thought it was going to be engram coding!"

Master Rahool's eyes narrowed.

"That was yesterday."

"Oh." Zinnia pursed her lips and gave a little shrug, suddenly very interested in the ladles hanging next to the hearth.

Kemal perked up. Transmat theory? He hadn't had the chance to finish that class at the College before he'd come to work at the Tower. He debated for a moment whether to speak up, then gathered his courage.

"Are these lectures for the Cryptarchy only?" he asked.

Master Rahool and Zinnia both looked at him. The Cryptarch was quite surprised at his interest.

"They are open to the Tower in general. Are you interested in attending?"

Kemal felt himself blushing and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, I haven't brushed up on it in a while…"

"Nothing to worry about. I've designed the lecture to be similar to a class you might find at the College. If you're interested, do come along."

"Really?" Kemal asked. "I'm afraid I don't have a lot of glimmer to spare," he admitted.

"Oh, Light!" The Cryptarch scoffed. "It's free, lad. I wouldn't charge for a little education!"

"Thank you, sir!" Kemal grinned. "I've got the rest of the day off. I think I will stop by after all."

Master Rahool looked enormously pleased. Ella returned with two mugs of cocoa heaped with whipped cream, which she presented to Zinnia and Kemal.

"Your tea is best when hot," she said to the Cryptarch. That was the only gift he was going to receive. Zinnia leaned over and sniffed at his mug, pulled a face, and gratefully clutched her cocoa.

"You're still sick?" she asked.

"Quite," the Cryptarch sighed, fishing out his handkerchief once more. The little Warlock considered him a moment and then reached up and pressed her hand to his forehead, nearly knocking off his cowl.

"You're still warm!" she exclaimed.

Master Rahool sighed again.

"For the love of the Light, girl! I'm standing in front of a blasted oven!"

"I'm telling you, Cryptarch, this sickness will knock you off your feet if you're not careful!" Ella said from the counter next to Bertrand. She was unwrapping a plate of scones and dividing them up between Kemal's tray and one equally laden down for the Cryptarchy. "Guardian, do make sure he keeps drinking that tea during the lecture!"

Zinnia sipped her cocoa and glanced slyly up at the Cryptarch. He returned her tiny smile with a scowl. Blessed Light, he really had no fear of her!

Ella worked at the trays until they could have served half the Tower. At this rate, Kemal would have to get a Frame to help him carry his to the shop! He was grateful for the variety, though. Ella didn't skimp on anything. Zinnia's eyes shone as the cook added small oranges — "to keep away further sniffles!" — and candied nuts to the tray — "a little treat never hurt anyone!"

Kemal was just about ready to go when a knock came from the back door leading outside. Katie hopped off the footstool she was using to reach the top shelf of a drying rack and hurried over to answer the door. A gust of cold air whipped into the kitchen, flurries of snow on its breath. Three Titans came inside, hefting huge sacks of flour and long milk cans. A City delivery driver in Harkness Farms livery followed them in, struggling with a sack of beans. One of the Titans was so large he looked like he might get stuck in the doorway.

"Light, it's really coming down out there!" the enormous Titan laughed. His booming voice filled the kitchen with as much warmth as the ovens. Snowflakes were melting in his red beard and wild, long hair. He had two milk cans balanced on his shoulders, looking no more troubled by their considerable weight than if he were carrying a couple of kittens.

"Oh, bless you, Guardians!" Ella exclaimed, ushering them into the kitchen. It was well and truly crowded now. "You can set those things down right in the corner there!" She pointed to a spot near the pantry door where apprentices were busily sorting and arranging new shipments of utensils and foodstuffs. The Titans squeezed by Kemal, Zinnia, and the Cryptarch. Kemal goggled at them. Each wore a long sky blue Mark with an elegant swan embroidered on the fine cloth. They were not armored, but their winter clothing did nothing to detract from their imposing presence. Even the smallest of the three, a woman with sleek black hair and eyes that judiciously weighed everything before her, seemed to fill the entire kitchen. She was carrying two sacks of flour with the same ease as her fellow Titan. She turned and relieved the delivery driver of his sack of beans, hefting it off his shoulders with one arm.

"That's the last of it, Mistress," the redhaired Titan announced.

"The Light keep you for helping an old woman out in a pinch!" Ella smiled up at him. "And for helping this young man as well. I thought the poor boy was going to faint after the first load!" She had a sympathetic smile for the driver. "It's such a shame Harkness is so short-staffed they sent you here alone!"

"I…don't think my supervisor…realized I would have to come…straight up to the kitchens…instead of leaving the delivery…at the docks!" the driver panted, trying to catch his breath. He didn't look to be much older than Kemal. He was dark haired and slim, mopping the melting snow from his cheeks with wide-eyed looks at the Titans and everything around him. Kemal knew that look. It was the same flabbergasted expression he'd worn for three days straight upon first coming to the Tower. The driver looked up at the Titans, stammering his thanks.

"It was nothing!" The redhead Titan chuckled. "We work if we want to eat, and now you can be about your business on time!" He clapped the driver's shoulder and the stunned man nearly toppled over.

Before they could go, Ella bade the Titans and the driver to wait while she got them all something hot to drink. More cocoa was passed around the kitchen. Even Katie and Bertrand got a mug. Ella topped off the Cryptarch's tea.

"Fever tea, eh?" The huge Titan raised a bushy eyebrow at Master Rahool's drink. "Light, man! You're a brave one!" He laughed uproariously and slapped the Cryptarch on the back. Master Rahool kept his feet only slightly better than the driver had. The Titan turned to Zinnia and tousled her curly bun affectionately.

The Titans stuck around to drink and catch up with the cook. Kemal stood squeezed between them, elation rising in his chest. Titans were his favorite, ever since he was a little kid. And now he was actually standing with them, sharing a drink, just like they were any other person! He exchanged a glance with the bewildered driver, who seemed to understand how he felt. The little Warlock bounced on her toes, chatting happily with the other Guardians. Katie had all but stopped her washing to take in the scene. Kemal couldn't have asked for a better afternoon. How he wished Chelise could be here to see this! It was just what she needed to make her feel better.

Eventually the Titans excused themselves, draining their mugs and striding toward the back door. They were sent on their way with handfuls of scones. The delivery driver also had his pockets loaded down with pastries, and a thermos of cocoa to see him back to the provinces. Soon it was just Kemal, the Warlock, and Master Rahool again. With the Titans gone, the tiny aisle suddenly felt a good deal roomier.

Ella presented them their trays, Zinnia taking the Cryptarchy's meal and Master Rahool in charge of carrying his own pot of tea.

"Don't hesitate to ask for more!" Ella instructed the Cryptarch. "Your pardon, dears. I have to get these biscuits in the oven!" She hurried off to attend to her baking. Zinnia practically skipped out the door, entranced by all the food she was carrying. Master Rahool sighed at the mug and teapot in his hands and made to follow her. Kemal brought up the end of the procession.

Passing by Katie's sink, Master Rahool saw his chance.

"Sorry!" he muttered, and dumped the unfinished mug of tea into the dishwater. Katie stared after him as he scuttled through the swinging door. She exchanged a snicker with Kemal, who followed the beleaguered Cryptarch out of the kitchen.


	26. Calm

The light was failing fast deep in the woods, now that the sun had slipped behind the ridgeline. Quarrel crouched under a spreading pine, balanced on her toes in the snow, peering into the deepening gloom. Faint plumes of smoke rose from her respirator, drifting in front of her visor. Her helm telemetry was silent. All tactical information had been removed in favor of her own senses. Ghost was silent for the most part too, remaining at Rest. The scratchy audio sensors fed her the sounds of the forest. Bird song, the stony warble of crows, the evening breeze whispering through the boughs. She tried to calm her heart's pounding, tried to take even, quiet breaths as she watched Guinefort slowly moving through a stand of brush barely six meters from where she waited.

The Exo moved with astonishing stealth, hardly rustling a leaf. His servos were even quieter than his light armor. Not even his dark cloak so much as snagged a twig. He was looking ahead of him intently, staring into a stand of trees as he slowly circled to get a better look. He did not see her.

If he was that interested in what lay ahead, he'd probably picked up Dane or Gelert's trail. If she could just get a little closer, she'd have the drop on him. Guinefort was far more concerned about being found by the other two Hunters than by her. Good.

Guinefort was almost out of sight when Quarrel shifted forward to follow him. It was hard to keep her footsteps quiet in the crunching, deep snow, hard to keep her own armor from catching on every branch she passed. Slow and steady. If she just took her time, placed each foot with the utmost care…

A pine cone dropped from the branches above her, landing with a soft thump in the snow. Quarrel froze and immediately flattened to the ground. She saw Guinefort look back in her direction, white eyes searching. He had heard that! She lay absolutely still, hoping that the underbrush and deep shadows between the trees would be enough to hide her. Her visor began to fog over with her own breath. She tried to slow her breathing, not wishing for the vapor to be visible to the Exo. The snow was a dull cold beneath her fieldsuit. She could lie here for some time before it would truly become uncomfortable. Hopefully Guinefort wouldn't make her wait that long. At last Guinefort began to move off, back toward the trees he'd been interested in. Quarrel let out her breath and waited a minute more before pushing herself out of the snow.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Only two days of practice kept her from crying out. Quarrel spun around and saw Gelert crouched on her heels. The Hunter cocked her helm to the side and waggled a pine cone in her hand. Quarrel shook her head in defeat. Gelert nodded to her and then jerked her chin in Guinefort's direction. Without a word, they began to slink after him.

Gelert stopped behind the same clump of bushes that Guinefort had used for cover. She held up a warning hand to Quarrel and the two of them scanned the tree trunks for any sign of the Exo. Quarrel spotted the edge of his boot coming out from behind a nearby trunk. She made a quick handsign at Gelert. They watched the Exo creep from cover. He was looking up into a tree's canopy, still unaware he was being watched. Gelert kept her hand low and gestured to the branches. Quarrel understood she had seen something in them. It took a few moments, but then she saw it too. Dane was lying across one of the thicker, lower boughs over Guinefort's head. The Exo was looking in the wrong direction, just slightly to the right of where his quarry waited.

Gelert pointed at Guinefort and then herself. Quarrel made a tiny gesture toward Dane. Gelert nodded once. She held up three fingers, began to tick them down.

 _Three, two…_

On _one_ , they burst from cover. Gelert dashed toward Guinefort nearly on hands and feet, streaking toward the oblivious Exo. He only had a moment to register that he was in trouble before Gelert rolled by and tagged him. At the same time, Quarrel was up and running. She shot out of the underbrush and surged toward the branch Dane was hiding upon. One burst of Light took her high enough to look into his helm. He was already twisting to face her, pushing himself back, getting ready to drop to the ground. She darted a hand out and grazed his shoulder before he fell.

Dane hit the carpet of dead needles and snow on the ground and rolled, cursing. Guinefort sat nearby, laughing and shaking his head. Quarrel had enough time to grin and then she was on her feet, looking around for Gelert. The woman had disappeared. Damn! When would she remember to keep an eye on her? A blur of movement from her right. Quarrel spun and crouched. Gelert's hand flew overhead as she ran by. Quarrel lashed out with a foot and touched Gelert's calf with the toe of her boot. The Hunter growled in frustration and skidded to a stop, gouging lines of dark earth in the white snow. Guinefort began to laugh even harder, and even Dane joined in.

"Nice one, fresh meat! We have a winner!"

Quarrel stood up and dusted the snow off her armor. She extended a hand to Gelert. The woman shook hands and sighed.

"Got a little too cocky at the end," Gelert muttered. "You and your long legs!"

Quarrel laughed.

"I'll use every advantage I can get. You didn't make it easy!"

Guinefort joined them, still chuckling. Dane trudged up beside them, his own breath smoking through his helm's respirator.

"I almost had you, Guinny," he admonished the Exo. "If these two had just waited a second longer..!"

"I knew you were there the whole time," Guinefort shrugged, sounding nonchalant. Dane turned his attention to Quarrel.

"That was a pretty gutsy move to rush in like that," he said. "I could have tagged you easy."

"Then why didn't you?" she grinned.

"Ha. You got lucky this time, fresh meat. You know you've got to do it again and — "

"And prove it wasn't a fluke," she finished for him. "I know, I know."

Dane snorted and shook his head. Guinefort and Gelert shared a chuckle. It was so dark now she could really only make out the silhouettes of the Hunters as they clustered under the tree.

"Come on," Dane said. "Let's get back to camp."

He led the way and the others fell into line behind him, moving through the trees as silently as they had been during the game they had just finished. A Hunter's version of hide and go seek, they had spent several hours playing each day they'd been on patrol. While at first it had seemed frivolous, by now Quarrel could tell that her instincts had sharpened admirably at the practice of finding the Hunters, with no scans and no cover but what nature afforded them in the moment. It was a simple game of elimination. Each participant was on their own, watching their back and looking for their prey. There were several versions of the game, including the rules they had just used, which called for teams of two to form when someone was finally tagged. The final twist being that, once the first team had tagged the others, they had to turn on each other — as Quarrel and Gelert had done — in order to crown an overall winner. For three days, Quarrel had been either the first one tagged or close to it. Now she had finally won. She couldn't stop smiling.

Back at camp, Guinefort set about making a fire while Dane, Gelert, and Quarrel scrounged up some field rations. They were settled in a small clearing several hundred feet from an icy stream. Before the fire was lit, the camp looked almost like an abandoned thing, with only two low tents of winter camouflage fabric and a small ring of stones for the campfire. A few split logs acted as makeshift stools. The Hunters liked to travel light. Their Ghosts had sent their ships to synchronous orbit after transmatting the Guardians to the mountain's surface. They had carried everything they needed on their backs until they found a suitable site. Quarrel shared Gelert's tent and Dane shared his with Guinefort, although the Exo spent very little time in it. He opted to keep watch at night so the others could sleep, though they still took turns with shifts. Whenever Quarrel had struggled out of her warm sleeping bag into the snowy dawn, she would inevitably find Guinefort sitting beside a tiny fire, scribbling away with a pencil nub in a little notebook he carried with him at all times.

The first morning, she'd coaxed him to let her take a look at the notebook after he admitted that he was mostly drawing. He was a terrific artist. Beautiful, scenic sketches and detailed renditions of wildlife and forest flora covered the pages. She'd raised an eyebrow at a couple of portraits of Gelert, lovingly and secretly rendered as they'd sat around the campfire at night, the shading on her delicate features so faithful that Quarrel could almost see the firelight flickering on her face. If Exos could blush, Guinefort would have glowed so bright he could be seen back at the Tower. He'd mumbled and snatched the book away. Clearly she was not meant to have seen those sketches.

Tonight Guinefort was at it again, perched on an upright log, his leg crossed at the ankle to serve as a makeshift table for his battered notebook. He listened in to the conversation as the other three talked and ate. Dane really did most of the talking whenever Guinefort was busy sketching, but Quarrel had opened up to the Hunters in the past few days and found she had a lot to say herself. Gelert never spoke much, content to chime in only when she felt it was absolutely necessary. Quarrel had found that Gelert wasn't nearly as cold as she seemed, only that the Awoken was slow to warm up to people she didn't know. She was so very different from Zinnia in that regard.

Quarrel felt a pang of guilt when she thought about the Warlock. Poor Zinnia had not been allowed to come along after all. It turned out that penances were just as bad as they sounded. She was under orders from Shenu to perform one backbreaking task after another, none of which involved anything Zinnia would find even remotely fun. She had really been in trouble for going to the Cosmodrome. For some reason, Shenu had taken very poorly to the idea. Dane maintained it was because he knew that Zinnia was useless in battle against such a savage enemy. But if that were the case, wouldn't Zavala have set her to penances as well? Dane had shrugged and said that this was "floofer business", leaving it at that. He wasn't at all broken up about not having Zinnia join the patrol.

The field rations for dinner were as terrible as ever. Quarrel ate with good appetite, though they hardly resembled the food she was used to from the Tower kitchens. The freeze-dried pouches were good for sustenance only, but consumed around a campfire and with good conversation, she found she didn't mind them so much. Three days ago, she never would have believed that she could have so much fun with Dane and his fireteam. He was still as cocky as ever, in a way that sometimes rankled, but they'd shared many genuine moments of laughter and good advice.

She had to admit that for all his talk, Dane knew what he was about. On the first full day of patrols, they'd encountered the remnants of Fallen tracks in the snow, a trail made by a scouting party. The two-toed marks were unmistakable, moving in a narrow line, deviating to rocky outcroppings that peered over tiny civilian outposts where travelers came to rest before entering the City. Even though Dane had declared the tracks old, he'd had the team spread out and sweep the surrounding forest as seriously as if they'd heard a Dreg grumble in the brush. The Fallen traveled light as well, hardly a scrap left behind in their passing. Quarrel had picked up a bit of footwrapping and a tiny fish bone, the only other evidence of their presence. There were no marks of tents or fires.

Guinefort and Gelert seemed to balance Dane out too. Whenever he started to brag overly much, one or the other usually had a lighthearted jab meant to bring him back down to earth. Quarrel had expected them to be little more than cronies lapping at his heels, eager to share some of his Crucible glory. Instead she found they were truly friends. The way they moved together, worked together, even shared each other's jokes and finished each other's sentences was unmistakably borne of long, happy association.

Far from being three days of humiliation and misery that she couldn't wait to escape, Quarrel found she was actually looking to her return to the Tower with some regret. She had not felt so right since she had met with the Speaker. Sitting in the middle of the woods nestled under mountain peaks, barely staving off the cold and watching the trees at every unfamiliar noise…she was as calm as she had been sitting in Marina's apartments watching the vidscreen. Calmer, even. The open air, the vast rolling vistas, even the occasional snowstorms were soothing in a way no kind words of advice or comfortable Tower accommodations could be. She felt Reborn all over again. Even Ghost had noticed, remarking on it offhandedly once in a while. It seemed to please him, though she thought he also sounded a little puzzled by it.

"So what do you say, fresh meat?" Dane asked, stretching his legs before the fire. "Can we put you down in the books as a Hunter yet?"

"You just want me to join so you can pick on me as a Mentor," she teased, scraping out her bowl. Tonight's rations were a poor approximation of Ella's vegetable stew, washed down with strong coffee courtesy of Gelert.

"I'm doing that already!" Dane grinned.

She shrugged, setting her bowl aside.

"I don't know. It's still kind of early to decide, isn't it?"

"I chose in my first week," Dane said. "So did Guinny and Gelert. We all joined up at the same time. The choice was obvious."

"Cayde does a good job of twisting arms too," Guinefort grunted. Gelert's lips quirked in a small smile. Quarrel remembered Cayde's gleeful admission of his bet with Ikora Rey. She decided against letting them know about that.

"Look at you," Dane said, examining her in the firelight. "You're carrying knives, you take to our exercises like a duck to water. Hell, a Hunter even named you. It's just too bad it was Tory. He's got no imagination."

"Actually, it was a Titan," Quarrel corrected him. And Zinnia, she thought, but she wouldn't say that either. Zinnia was a subject best kept out of conversation with Dane. They'd made her tell the story of her naming last night, curious about its origins. They had been expecting something of her deeds at Rebirth, not a squabble while watching the vidscreen. The revelation had caused a lot of laughter.

"Yeah, well, it's still a Hunter's name," Dane scoffed. "Not something one of those hoity-toity floofers would choose. They all want to be philosophers and poets and gods. The only thing they spend more time on than names is choosing what Bond goes best with their vestments and how to sneer at other people."

"Maybe I should go on patrol with some Warlocks and Titans before I make up my mind," she said. "After all, I get the feeling my present company is biased."

That made Guinefort chuckle again.

"You wouldn't like it, fresh meat," Dane said. "The Titans are all right, but you'll be stuck on the Walls more often than not. And the Warlocks…well, I hope you like moldy books and meditation. You can forget about patrols like this for a Novice."

"Are you saying Hunters don't like to study?" she asked, waving her spoon at Guinefort. He was sketching out a dried oak leaf balanced on his knee, carefully capturing every little vein.

"Don't look to Guinny as an example of a model Hunter!" Dane said, scooping up some snow and chucking it at the Exo. "He's going to turn in his resignation any time now and defect to the Warlocks."

Guinefort brushed the snow off his notebook and raised an eyebrow plate. "After which, Dane will realize he's nothing without me," he said calmly.

"Guinefort is a Hunter." Gelert spoke up. "He's too crude to be a Warlock, and too weak to be a Titan."

They all had a laugh at that.

The good natured banter turned to general Hunter gossip, which Quarrel mostly just listened to. Her ears perked up at mention of Tory and Polaris, and how they were set to re-map sections of the passes above Twilight Gap in the coming months and possibly even the Cosmodrome. She wondered if they would be opposed to her tagging along. She was already determined that her return to the Tower would be short. Surely Zavala would consider those two Hunters senior enough to watch over her in the steppes. And if they didn't want her along, maybe Dane would be amenable…

 _You could also just go_ , a seditious little voice inside her said. _Zavala's admonishments be damned. He can't keep you away!_

Eventually even the gossip died down, until the four were just sitting quietly gazing at the fire. It was turning to embers, the silent cue that soon it would be time to turn in for the night. A coyote called in the distance, high and inquisitive. The Hunters turned as one, gazing off into the night, alert but unafraid.

"I'm gonna hit the sack," Dane said at last. "Who's taking first watch with Guinny?"

"I will," Quarrel offered. She was tired, but didn't feel quite like turning in just yet.

"Good. Wake me up for third shift, Gelly," he nudged Gelert with his elbow, automatically volunteering her for second shift. Gelert sighed and drained her coffee. She stood up and bade Quarrel and Guinefort a good night before crawling into her tent.

"Want me to stoke the fire?" Guinefort asked.

"Sure," she agreed, and went off to visit the latrine they'd dug in the ground well away from the camp and the stream. Back in the trees, she could only faintly smell the campfire smoke when the wind shifted. She had to listen hard for the crackling logs. Otherwise the night reigned in the woods around her, cold and lonely. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds tonight. It was probably going to snow again. She still felt glad. Except for figuring out how to do her business while wearing armor — that was just an awkward affair, no two ways about it.

She took her time going back to the camp proper so she could have a moment to speak with Ghost in privacy.

"Ready to go home tomorrow?" she asked. It was funny how quickly she had begun to refer to the Tower as such, even though the wilds were beginning to feel just as familiar.

 **I suppose it wouldn't hurt to check in** , Ghost chirped from Rest. He'd been even more reticent about joining Dane on this trip than she had. But now, free from immediate threats of Fallen and Hive, he was very happy to be on patrol with her. That was a relief. She had been worried that he really wanted her to hang about the Tower forever, prepared to deem everything else too dangerous after the excitement with the Hive.

"We can see if Zinnia is off of penances," Quarrel said. Oh, she felt sorry for that poor Warlock! Whichever Order she ended up choosing, she hoped that she wouldn't be bound like Zinnia was to Shenu. If that was the way of it, she just wouldn't choose at all!

 **I sure hope she is. With Shenu, you never know.**

"Do you think she'll forgive me for the company I've been keeping?" Quarrel asked.

 **I think she'll just be glad to see a friendly face!** Ghost said. **Just make sure you haven't picked up Dane's bad habits.**

"Okay. I'll only brag a little bit about winning the game today."

Ghost burbled and clicked, a little laugh. He was proud of that win too.

She made her way back to the newly stoked fire, savoring the night air. One more night out in the wilds. One more night to relax — despite the snow and cold, despite the fact that Fallen could be near again. She wasn't sure if her confidence was high because the City was just out of sight beyond the mountain range or because she was with an experienced fireteam. All she knew for certain was that she wanted this again.


	27. Warlock Business

The little desk clock chimed eight times. Rahool sighed and set down his pen, rubbing his cramped hand. It was time to be finishing up for the night. He wasn't even going to pretend that he wasn't glad to be done. Nor was he going to pretend he wasn't eager to leave the Archives before Katilyn arrived for her night shift and came to scold him for still working. He yawned and began to file his papers away, trying to make some semblance of order on his desk. It would never happen, but still he had to try. I do have a method to my madness, he thought, moving a stack of Novice essays still awaiting the judgment of his red pen. _As long as I understand my system, who cares what it looks like?_ He'd never allow such a mess from the Novices, however. If they complained it wasn't fair, well, perhaps someday they could become a Master and set their own rules.

The blasted cold had still not left him, so he continued to sniffle and wipe his nose as he closed and locked up his study for the night. He would just take one quick tour of the Archives to make sure all was well before heading home.

Everything was to his expectation as he made the circuit. A few Novices were studying late, the janitorial Frame — mercifully not whistling — was dutifully sweeping the corners of the grand chamber, and his dayshift Cryptarchs were presiding over all. He noticed the Warlock Sahen looking over an ancient architectural manuscript and made sure the man caught his eye as he passed.

 _Yes_ , Rahool's glance said, _I see you with that book. No, you may_ _ **not**_ _remove it from the Archives!_ He'd have to leave a note for Katilyn to make sure Sahen didn't try to smuggle the tome out under his vestments. Rahool was convinced that some of the persistent holes in the Archive's collection were his doing.

The only thing out of the ordinary was Zinnia asleep at her desk. Blessed Light, of course she would be the one to throw a kink into the works! Her corner of the grand chamber was hardly ever frequented, so the Light only knew how long she'd been dozing. She had her head on her arms, practically falling out of her chair, her shoulders rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Ebla was sprawled out beside her on the desk.

Perdita appeared from Rest as he approached.

 **My apologies, Master Rahool. I tried to get her to go home, but…**

Rahool looked down at the little Warlock and shook his head.

"I commend your efforts," he said quietly. "I am sure they were monumental." He was often glad that he was not a Ghost. Imagine having to wrangle Guardians day in and day out! At least he could shut the study door on them once in a while. Poor Perdita had done nothing to deserve such a willful, stubborn Guardian as Zinnia.

"Should I even bother having her come in tomorrow, or will there be more penances from Shenu?" he asked. Perdita clicked and rolled her fins.

 **That remains to be seen. I wouldn't hold my breath, if I were you.**

Rahool shook his head again. Shenu had worn Zinnia to the bone in the past few days. Blessed Light, she'd fallen asleep during the transmat theory lecture the other day, snoring enough to make everyone turn around and stare! She was prone to idleness, but the lethargy she'd been showing was beyond that. It was as if the very spirit had been ground out of her. He could almost approve — the penances must have been more creative than shelving to get her to be so subdued — except that Shenu's punishments had taken Zinnia from her duties in the Archives with no warning or explanation. He'd thought she might just have absconded again until Perdita had been able to get in contact via the janitorial Frame.

He wouldn't go so far as to say she didn't deserve her Mentor's judgment, but perhaps Shenu was overreacting just a little. Zinnia shouldn't have run off to the Cosmodrome without his consent — or Rahool's for that matter — and it was indeed very foolish of her to engage the Hive. But wasn't that what a Guardian was supposed to do, in the end? Zinnia may not always act the part, but the Light help them all, she was still a Guardian. Ah, well. Far be it from him to get involved with Warlock business. He had enough headaches of his own to deal with, thank you very much!

Rahool cleared his throat a couple of times. Ebla woke before the Warlock, stretching out on the desk, pink tongue curling. At last Zinnia opened her eyes. She mumbled something and then sat up straight, hastily wiping drool from her chin.

"Oh, Master Rahool! I was just…um…!" she began to scatter the papers she had been lying on. He saw stacks of engram cataloging forms and a few of Katilyn's translation exercises.

"Leave those for later," he said. "Go home and get some proper sleep."

Zinnia pursed her lips, still sorting through the papers.

"I need to catch up," she said tightly. "I'm almost done!"

"I'll get the paperwork reassigned. Go home, girl."

"No, I can do this!" she protested.

"This isn't a request. You're exhausted. You can deal with this later."

Zinnia stared at the desktop, her expression stony. She set the papers down and stood up, gathering her overcoat from the back of her chair.

"Fine," she muttered. "But the Light only knows when I'll have a moment to come back to the Archives!"

"We'll still be here when you do find the time."

Her glance was reproachful. He'd thought she would be overjoyed to be sent away early. The Traveler preserve him, he'd never figure Zinnia out!

"Of course," she said icily. "How silly of me to think I might be missed."

She swept past him, bidding him an even colder good night. Perdita rolled her eye and flitted away.

 **Come along** , she coaxed. **The kitchens have cinnamon rolls. If you hurry, there might be some left!**

Zinnia shot her Ghost an even more reproachful look. It would seem not even the prospect of food could cheer her up. Light, she had to be very tired indeed!

* * *

Zinnia walked down the path from the Archives through the North Tower, kicking snow ahead of her. Usually a new snowfall made her happy, but she was so sick of being tired and cold that the Tower winterscape only darkened her mood.

"I can't do anything right when it comes to the Cryptarchy, Perdita!" she complained. "First Master Rahool says I don't work enough. Now, when I finally do try to get some work done, he sends me home! I wish he would make up his mind!"

 **He doesn't want you to wear yourself out** , Perdita clicked. **I'm sure he was pleased you managed to sneak in what little time you did…even if you didn't get very far on your paperwork.**

"I'm never going to get on the Vault Project at this rate," she sighed. For Light's sake, between Shenu and Master Rahool's disapproval, she should probably just resign herself to a life of scrubbing toilets and arranging bookshelves from here on out!

 **Let's just worry about getting you through the week first, hmm?**

It turned out there were still cinnamon rolls left, which did lighten her cares a tiny bit. The Light bless Mistress Ella! The cook had a gift for knowing when someone needed a pick-me-up the most. She picked up only two of the sticky rolls, knowing that taking any more than that would just set Perdita off on lectures about being "greedy". Well, it was first come first served, wasn't it? There was no arguing with Perdita, though.

She was just leaving the cafeteria when Quarrel entered. Zinnia's hopes soared. At last! They were quickly dashed when she saw Dane, Guinefort, and Gelert enter as well. They were all talking and laughing together, as chummy as old friends. Zinnia stopped in her tracks, suddenly uncertain. This was the last thing she had expected from Quarrel after being stuck with that pigheaded Hunter for three days. Maybe it was just an act? But no…that smile of hers looked genuine enough…

Quarrel was the first to notice her. She smiled broadly and waved. The three Hunters looked Zinnia's way. Dane raised an eyebrow and leaned over to whisper something to Guinefort behind Quarrel's back. Zinnia returned the woman's smile, not wanting Dane to see her doubt. Quarrel turned to the group and spoke briefly with them before coming to Zinnia's side. The Hunters watched her a moment and then moved off to the buffet line to help themselves to the cinnamon rolls.

"Hi!" Quarrel said cheerfully. She was shouldering a bedroll on her back and was still dressed in her armor. She must have just returned from the northeast provinces. From the glow on her cheeks and her happy smile, the outdoors had done her much good. At least, Zinnia hoped it was the outdoors. She couldn't imagine how being around Dane would make anyone look so refreshed!

"Hello!" Zinnia replied, determined to be happy for her friend. "Cinnamon roll?" She held out one of the pastries.

"Thanks!" Quarrel accepted the roll graciously.

"How was patrol?" Zinnia asked, trying to keep the envy out of her voice. She really would have liked to go, even though it would have meant camping in the snow.

"Oh. It was fine," Quarrel said, with her customary lack of embellishment. Zinnia watched her closely.

"How was it really?" she asked, lowering her voice a little. "You know…with them?" The cafeteria wasn't very full with the main dinner crowd already departed, and she didn't want to chance Dane and his fireteam overhearing anything.

"Believe it or not, they were fine too," Quarrel grinned.

"Really?" She searched the taller woman's face, but found no hint of sarcasm. That couldn't be right!

Quarrel shrugged.

"I can't explain it either. I had a good time. I'm sorry you couldn't come."

Zinnia picked at the frosting on her cinnamon roll.

"That's okay."

If only she could make herself truly believe that. As jealous as she had been at Quarrel being able to join a real patrol, she had tempered it with pity at how awful she imagined working with Dane had to be. Now that it seemed that wasn't the case, she had trouble keeping that jealousy at bay any longer.

"Dane wants to set up a skirmish tomorrow," Quarrel said. "I told him that I want you to come along."

Zinnia stared at her.

"Me?"

"Yeah. I figured you'd want to."

"Um…okay. Sure!" She smiled, trying to hide sudden doubt. Why would Dane agree to let her into a match? Was he hoping to pit them against each other?

"Maybe we can team up together and kick Dane's butt," Quarrel said with a wink. "I guess it will depend on how the teams shake out."

"Yeah!" Zinnia said, wondering if there was any way she could force Shaxx to place Quarrel on her team. Maybe she could find him tomorrow before the match and make a teensy little suggestion…oh, drat! Tomorrow? Who knew if she would be in penances or not? Yesterday, Shenu had only had her meditating in the morning. She'd checked in with him again after the Cryptarchy lecture, failed to summon the Void, and had spent a good portion of the night sweeping hallways with the Frames. Today she had listened to Shenu recount the history of the Warlock Order, failed to summon the Void, gathered up hundreds of dirty clothes hampers for the laundry, and gone to the Archives. All the while, Shenu hadn't said a word about the mission he'd proposed. Zinnia desperately wanted to tell her friend about it, but his dire warning about staying silent held her tongue.

"I guess I'd better check with Shenu first," she admitted. "I might still have, um, training." Quarrel didn't need to know about the penances. That was just silly extra information that wouldn't interest anybody at the moment. She could tell her later, when they both weren't so tired.

Quarrel smiled down at her, sympathetic.

"Still on penances?"

Zinnia blushed. How did she know? She glanced at Perdita, who was looking pointedly at a cross-stitch hanging on the wall. _Just you wait until we're alone…!_ she thought menacingly.

"Yeah," Zinnia mumbled.

"I hope you can make it," Quarrel said, still smiling sympathetically. Light, she didn't have to be patronizing about it!

"Me too."

Perdita trilled, perking up.

 **I'm being hailed by Ushabti** , she said. **Shenu wants to see you. And you too, Guardian** , she clicked at Quarrel, sounding surprised.

"What does he want with me?" Quarrel asked.

Zinnia felt a thrill. Was it time to make the decision?

"Let's go now! I think I have an idea what this is about!" She took Quarrel's arm, leading her out of the cafeteria.

* * *

Warlock Mentor Shenu was just as uptight as Quarrel remembered him. He stood waiting for them in a place Zinnia called the Central Study, a small, sparsely furnished room in the upper quarter of the Tower column. She was curious to know what this meeting was about. On the way over, Zinnia had looked very excited, and more than a little anxious.

"My apologies for summoning you at such a late hour," Shenu said to Quarrel, not sounding very apologetic at all. He had no such regrets to offer Zinnia. "I had Ushabti notify me promptly when you had returned to the Tower."

Shenu's Ghost blinked at her from the corner. It was a very different looking Ghost from any she'd seen yet, with a dark blue shell and four long, thin spines that quivered when Shenu spoke its name. It also bore a large scar, jarring against its smooth ocular case. Part of its eye lens was so clouded she wondered if it could see anything at all.

"That's all right, Guardian." she said. Zinnia stood by her side, her green eyes downcast to the carpet. She held her half-eaten cinnamon roll squeezed between tense fingers. The poor thing looked utterly exhausted. What exactly had her penances been?

"I have called you here because I wish to take you on a training mission," Shenu said. "I believe it would be of interest to you seeing as I am headed for the Cosmodrome. Would you like to join me?"

Quarrel could hardly contain her surprise at the unexpected turn of luck.

"Yes!" she said.

Shenu nodded. A small, satisfied smile touched his lips.

"Good. I must warn you: though this is training, it is still quite dangerous. The Hive remain, and the Fallen have grown wary with their presence. I will expect complete and prompt obedience to my every command."

"I understand," Quarrel said. She just hoped that didn't mean she would have to start looking at the ground like Zinnia every time he was near. Shenu had yet to acknowledge her presence at all. Zinnia's expression was tight, as though her anxiety had reached its peak.

"I will be departing the day after tomorrow. Do use the intervening time to prepare. We shall be spending one night at least in the steppes."

"Thank you, Guardian," she said. Shenu nodded again, then turned his dark eyes to Zinnia.

"Novice, would you like to accompany us?"

Zinnia licked her lips.

"Yes, Guardian!" she said, still not raising her eyes above his boots.

"Very well. I lift your penances so you may prepare. However, should I hear one whisper of a misdeed between now and our departure, I promise that you will be left behind."

Zinnia nodded, eager to show she understood.

"Yes, Guardian!"

Shenu turned to Quarrel.

"Do not speak of this to anyone," he commanded. "You may leave us now. Arrive in the Hangar at oh-five-hundred the day of departure. Do not be late."

Quarrel said good night. Zinnia dared to glance at her as she left, a wan little smile on her lips. Before the door closed, she heard Shenu speak.

"Summon the Void."

* * *

 **The Cosmodrome?** Ghost chirped, back in Quarrel's apartments. **Why would Shenu want to train in the Cosmodrome? And why would he want to train you?**

"Gee, thanks!" Quarrel said. She stood on her balcony, shaking dead pine needles from her bedroll.

 **Oh, I didn't mean it like that!** Ghost sighed. **Shenu is only interested in Warlock matters. I wonder if he's hoping you'll join the Order?**

"Probably," Quarrel said. "Everyone wants a chance to show me their Order. I'm sure I'll get an offer from the Titans eventually. Do you think we shouldn't go?"

Ghost flicked his fins, considering.

 **I can't say I'm thrilled about going back there. Shenu must have his reasons though. Maybe he's going to teach Hive strategy. He used to fight them, you know. Before the moon was forbidden.**

"I'll be glad to hear any strategy he can offer," she said, coming back inside. The apartment was very warm compared to the nights spent in a simple tent. Almost too warm.

Ghost followed her around while she unpacked a few more items. There was just a little bit of laundry to be sent by Page to the Tower cleaners, and otherwise she might as well leave her baggage intact. A day already felt like too long to wait. At least she had some diversion in the meantime with the skirmish tomorrow.

"Looks like Zinnia might be able to join us in the Crucible after all," she said. "I wonder if I should tell her to forget it. Did you see how tired she looked?"

 **I wouldn't renege now. She'd just be disappointed.**

She had to agree. It already seemed like Zinnia was a little subdued upon finding out she had no gossip about Dane. She had been going to tell her all about the hide and seek game, but now that felt a little cruel. If she insisted Zinnia rested tomorrow instead of skirmishing, the Warlock might think she was trying to get rid of her.

"Where will we go for the match?" she asked, throwing her wadded up clothing into a hamper to hang on the doorknob. The Pages came by twice a day to gather these hampers and bring them to the laundry.

 **That will be up to Shaxx. Once Dane has the match registered and approved, he'll set something up himself or through his Frame, Arcite. Probably we'll be somewhere near the City, since it's just one quick skirmish instead of a whole day's games.**

It would likely be quick all right, if the match she'd watched from Dane's Ghost was any indication. She couldn't help but hope he was on her team. Zinnia too. Going up against the Warlock just felt wrong. Then again, going against Gelert and Guinefort also didn't sound so good. She wondered who their sixth would be.

The laundry taken care of, she gratefully peeled herself out of her armor and washed up for bed. Settled on the thick mattress under warm blankets, she found she had trouble getting to sleep without the sound of the breeze on canvas walls. The gentle hum of the Tower was no match for that. Still, it was nice to have a full pillow again. And no rocks digging between her ribs. Ella's baking had been very welcome too. The Tower offered a comforting sense of normalcy, a sanctuary to prepare for the next adventure. In some ways, it was good to be back.

 **I wish you would have eaten something more than a cinnamon roll for supper** , Ghost grumbled from Rest.

Oh, yes. It was good to be back.


	28. Crucible Shock

"Morning, fresh meat!"

Great Dane had a smug grin on his bearded face even before the transport cabin door had finished opening. He stood in knee-high snow drifts, long camouflaged cloak flapping in the wind of the spooling down engines. He held his helm against his hip in a relaxed stance, utterly in his element, the very picture of Hunter ease.

Quarrel threw him a wave and hopped out of the transport ship as soon as the ramp touched the ground. Zinnia shuffled down behind her. She stifled a yawn with her fist and shot Dane a suspicious look. The Hunter Polaris followed her, shouldering his pulse rifle and stretching his arms over his head. Zinnia had been very happy to find out that Polaris was going to be the sixth for today's skirmish. They knew each other through Tory, yet that didn't seem to detract his standing in Zinnia's eyes. Polaris reminded Quarrel a lot of Tory — very sociable and laid back, with deep eyes that held an enigmatic smile — but with a certain amount of quiet refinement that the other Hunter lacked. He was lean and lithe, with skin nearly as dark as her own and his head half-shaved. The rest of his black hair was done up in a multitude of tiny braids which he had tied back before they landed.

"So you decided to come after all?" Dane grinned.

"Wouldn't miss it," Quarrel said.

His brown eyes sparkled in the morning sun.

"Good!"

Dane turned to Zinnia, taking in her rumpled vestments.

"And you got little Zinnia out here too!" he gasped. "It's been too long!"

"What are you so happy about this early?" Zinnia grumbled.

"I get to skirmish with my favorite Warlock!" Dane laughed. He turned to Polaris and nodded. "Speaking of, I can't remember the last time we went toe to toe."

"Really?" Polaris said, returning Dane's cocky grin. "I remember it very well."

Zinnia snorted and pretended it was a sneeze. Quarrel couldn't hide a small smile of her own. At Zinnia's urging, Polaris had regaled them during the flight from the Tower with stories of previous matches against Dane. Most of which Polaris had won. Dane and his fireteam were still not to be underestimated, but knowing he wasn't invincible was a great boost to their confidence.

"Oof!" Dane winced. "Let's hope I'm paired up with you and not against, eh?"

"It's up to Shaxx," Polaris said.

"That would just be unfair!" Zinnia said. "Us three on the same team against Quarrel?"

Dane's smile just grew more smug.

"Where's the hounds?" Polaris asked, looking around the rocky bluff they stood upon. The transport had taken them to the mountains just north of the City, the legendary pass of Twilight Gap. It was not too far from where she had patrolled with Dane.

"Gelert's messing with her gear back on the ship," Dane gestured over his shoulder, looking to the distance where another light City transport was settled on the ground. "Guinny's getting the lay of the land. It's been a while since he's been to the Gap."

Zinnia scrunched up her face in displeasure.

"It figures I'd be the only Warlock."

"'Fraid so, ZeeZee," Polaris said. "That's all right. Two Warlocks is two too many."

Zinnia stuck her tongue out at him. Then she grinned slyly at Quarrel.

"Maybe she will decide to become a Warlock! Didn't you hear?" she spoke casually to Dane, clearly bolstered by the presence of her friends. "She's already channeled her Light to the Golden Gun!"

Quarrel shook her head. Not this again! She should have taken bets about how long before Zinnia brought up her Light.

"So I've heard," Dane said. "And you think that would make her a Warlock?"

"You Hunters don't own that!" Zinnia scoffed.

"But we're the best at it." Dane winked at Quarrel. She wondered if Dane was capable of such a feat too. The thought gave her a small thrill. She did not relish being on the receiving end of such power.

"Enough talking," Polaris said. "Shaxx should be arriving any time now, so we'd better not be caught unprepared. You know how he gets." Dane nodded sagely. Zinnia's bright eyes went wide.

"He's coming here?" she squeaked. " _Today_?!"

"What's the matter?" Dane asked. "You don't want your boyfriend to watch?"

Zinnia flushed and stoically ignored his jab, though she did pat at her bun, trying to push stray hairs behind her ears.

"Shaxx agreed to referee in person so he could see firsthand what fresh meat here can do." Dane said, nodding in approval at the idea.

Great. That was no pressure, then. No pressure at all.

Gelert dismounted the transport, geared up in her armor. A worn sniper rifle hung on her back, nearly as long as she was tall. Quarrel recognized the deadly weapon from the match she saw on interlink, as well as from their patrol. Her cloak was short, thick cloth today, a tough weave of ice blue and white. She had no smile or greeting for them. Her only change in expression was a slight narrowing of her violet eyes when she saw Polaris.

"You should take a look around while we've still got time," Polaris told Quarrel.

"I'll go too!" Zinnia said, latching to her side. Quarrel set off toward the ridge, Zinnia hot on her heels.

The view from the mountainside was breathtaking. The Traveler hung pale lilac and pink in the distance, swollen and silent over the City whose lights were gradually winking out with the strengthening daylight. She breathed deep of pine and earth and biting snow that chilled her lungs. Crows called in the treetops, echoing over the valley below. They stood in the midst of an old gondola station, overlooking the City like a rusty sentinel, quietly waiting for the battle to start.

Zinnia grumbled about the cold and the wind, but Quarrel could not be happier. It was a fine morning to be out. She nearly wanted to forget the match altogether and just disappear into the thick woods. Polaris joined them on the ridge, his long black cloak rippling at his heels. Its only adornment was two blue stars in shining thread. He looked out over the mountainside with quiet appreciation.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" he asked. Zinnia was squatting on her heels examining a twisted lump of metal rusted off from the station.

"It is," Quarrel agreed.

"This station was once a frontline for the Battle of Twilight Gap," Polaris explained. "It was long before my time, but Cryptarch records can tell you all about it." He pointed to the valley floor, a broad stretch of snowy plain that was visible from the Vanguard Hall in the Tower. "Down there is where the final stand took place. Twilight Gap started well beyond this station and eventually came knocking at the City gates. Stories say the pass was an abattoir. The grass was stained red where it wasn't scorched clean by Warlock fire and ketch cannons. Crows and Dregs picked through the dead, fighting over anything they could scavenge. Many Guardians were buried where they fell, once it was all over."

They were quiet for a time, watching the last tendrils of fog drifting in the crevasses below.

"In the spring the fields will be full of flowers," Polaris said. "The civilians will pick them and make wreaths for the Gap Festival." He grinned at her suddenly, the somber cast lifting from his features. "Then we'll drink and share stories until even our Ghosts can't see straight."

 **Incoming transport** , Ghost clicked. **Looks like Shaxx is on his way!**

They all looked up as a loud _whoom_ sounded overhead. A jumpship was breaking the clouds, descending low over the tree line.

"Come on. Let's circle up." Polaris led her back to the transports. Zinnia hopped up and tossed aside the hunk of metal, jogging after them.

"Get Guinefort over here," Dane told Gelert, watching the ship descend. Gelert turned toward the north side of the station. She raised two fingers to her mouth and let out a piercing whistle that carried on the cold air. A few moments later Guinefort appeared in the station doorway. He loped over to the group. Quarrel saw him tuck his small notebook into a sturdy leg pocket just over his tall boots. His cloak was a narrow black strip that hung straight down his back, an unknown sigil etched on a knot at the neck.

"Better get your gear on, folks," Polaris advised them all. "Let's not waste the Crucible Handler's time!"

They unslung weapons and checked buckles, snaps, and straps. Perdita appeared beside Zinnia and the two began to argue about the best setup for her armor. At least it wasn't hard for Quarrel to decide with her limited supply.

"What do you think, Ghost?" she asked. "Should I stick with the sniper, or take the shotgun?" Both of the weapons were loaners courtesy of Dane, as well as the persnickety old had cannon she was still using.

 **Hmm…let's see…Gelert is a renowned sniper, and Dane likes close-quarters combat. Polaris seems to favor pulse rifles to good effect. Guinefort is split pretty even with most ranged weapons. And Zinnia likes to lob grenades. So all in all, you've got a pretty balanced team whichever matchup you get. I'd say it's your call.**

She glanced over the group. Guinefort was adjusting his helm, Dane fixing his cloak over his golden epaulets, and Polaris was flexing his fingers in their thin, skin-tight gauntlets. The knuckles shone with tiny joint guards, sharp-edged to make an uncomfortable punch should his blade miss its mark. Gelert inspected the length of her sniper. Did she dare take on the Awoken's deadly aim? She hesitated, then decided she would not hold back.

"Let's take the sniper. Keep the shotgun on backup transmat."

 **Got it!**

She inspected her hand cannon and checked the holster's attachment to her belt. Ghost transmatted the long sniper from the transport ship into her waiting hands. Dane's eyebrows raised. He said something to Gelert, too quiet for Quarrel to hear. Gelert glanced her way and then back to her own sniper, her expression never changing. The woman had opened up a little during their time on patrol, but now she was all business again.

Shaxx's ship was making a long arcing descent. It came to rest between their transports. He had arrived in his personal craft, a sleek sharp-winged beauty that bore the Crucible's sigil of two crossed swords across its nose. The man himself appeared as the ramp came down. He was fully armored in thick Titan plates, a broken-horned helm on his head and a bear pelt slung over his massive shoulders.

Zinnia squeaked and dove behind Quarrel.

"He never arrives undressed," Dane smirked, speaking quietly. "Thinks it gives him a persona."

"Doesn't it?" Polaris asked, no hint of derision in his voice.

Dane laughed, but it was strained. Even the cocky Hunter couldn't deny the Crucible Handler was just plain intimidating. Shaxx was easily taller than any of them, even Great Dane, and at least twice their width. He made Zavala look almost average.

Shaxx wasted no time. He strode up to them, heavy boots crunching through the snow. The amulet on his chest clinked against his armor, and the entire set gleamed to a high polish. They hastened to secure straps and buckles, double-checked weaponry and helm systems.

"Guardians," Shaxx greeted them. His voice rang out through his comms, and was no less diminished for it. "Good morning. I hope the Light finds you well." Coming from him, the greeting sounded like a call to arms. They stood at attention, awaiting his orders. All except Zinnia, who was arguing in a whisper with Perdita.

"Put that away! I want the nice one! No, the gold one!"

Perdita transmatted her a smooth, finely chiseled helm, clicking in annoyance. Zinnia ignored her Ghost and sent a beaming smile to Shaxx, straightening up and pushing stray hairs out of her eyes. The Titan's own eyes were obscured behind his impressive helm, but all of them could feel the weight of his stare.

"It's to be skirmish, is it?" he asked, holding out a massive hand. His Ghost appeared. Its shell was larger and tougher looking than Ghost's, bearing spines reminiscent of Ushabti's sleek appendages.

"Yes, sir!" Dane called out.

"Very good. And we have new talent?" Shaxx's helm glinted as he turned his head to Quarrel.

"Sir!" she answered.

He stepped up to her, one of the few who actually stood taller than she did. It was like the mountain itself coming to stand by her side. She thought that she could actually feel his Light emanating from him, as warm as sunlight and as solid as a brick wall.

"Very good indeed," he said quietly. "I've heard about you. Untested here, but not in the field. Haven't chosen an Order, have you?"

"No, sir."

Shaxx nodded.

"There's time yet. You can fight all the same."

He considered all of them before turning to his Ghost. Quarrel glanced at Polaris, who was watching the Crucible Handler with a gaze that could only be described as respectful — and even a little awed. If Polaris gave a quiet strength, Shaxx shouted it. It was good, solid, dependable strength. Perhaps she ought to consider the Titans more seriously. Gelert and Guinefort wore much the same look as Polaris. Dane stood as attentive as the others, though his lips still curled in his cheeky half-smile.

Shaxx conferred quietly with his Ghost. Nobody seemed to even want to speak now that he was near. Zinnia gazed rapturously while she twisted her free hand in her unbound sleeve. At last Shaxx addressed them.

"Let's get teams sorted. Polaris, Gelert, Zinnia: You're Bravo team. Guinefort, Dane…and you, Guardian," he looked right at Quarrel, "You're Alpha."

Zinnia gave her a disconsolate look. Dane slung an arm around Quarrel's shoulders.

"All right! Team fresh meat!"

"Bravo starts on the east side," Shaxx intoned. "Alpha starts here, on the west. A quick primer for the uninitiated. The Crucible is live fire. That includes all utilization of Light or hand-to-hand combat. No holding back. That said, Ghosts are strictly off limits. If I catch anyone so much as pointing a finger at one, I'll be the last thing they ever see. Understood?"

Quarrel nodded, trying not to think about a fist the size of Shaxx's coming at her skull.

"Yes, sir!" they all barked.

"Good. Standard gear telemetry is in bounds, as well as limited Ghost feeds for proximity radar and the like. Enemy signature scans and long-range sensors are forbidden. Believe me, I _will_ know if you cheat."

She nodded again. The Light help anyone who even entertained the notion of unfair play with Shaxx around! Just his lecture made her sweat. How had Dane ever had the courage to stream his match? He wasn't going to broadcast this one, was he?

Shaxx continued with the rules.

"In skirmish, Revives are as follows: a Ghost remains with their Guardian in stasis hold until joined by a teammate. Only then is the Revive authorized. No jumping the gun, Guardians. If your teammate isn't around, then you aren't getting up. Personally, I find stasis a good time for Ghost lectures on what you could have done better."

She sincerely hoped Ghost wouldn't take that advice to heart.

"You will wait in your starting positions until you hear my call. Combat remains in effect until your entire team is down with all the opposing teammates Revived, or the time limit is reached. Once the skirmish is declared through, it's weapons down. No exceptions." He put his hands on his hips and stared them all down. "You stand on sacred ground this morning. I expect a good, clean fight. One worthy of the honor of the Gap!"

"Sir!" Polaris called. They all echoed him.

Shaxx nodded.

"Dismissed."

He strode back to his jumpship.

Zinnia let out a breath. The poor thing was beside herself. Her sad eyes went to Polaris, who clapped her on the shoulder.

"Suit up, Warlock. Let's get to our starting point!" He set his helm on his head and loped off the hillside down toward the central part of the station. Gelert positioned her sniper on her back, checked the fastening on her helm, and set off after him at a jog.

"Good luck!" Zinnia called to Quarrel.

"You too. Do me a favor and shoot me rather than burn me alive, okay?"

Zinnia grinned and slipped her helm over her messy bun. She touched the hand cannon at her thigh, sent one more glance in Shaxx's direction, and then took off running after Polaris and Gelert.

Guinefort slung his shotgun on his back and balanced a scout rifle against his shoulder. He looked to Dane, who was just pulling the hood of his cloak up over his helm. His armor was a motley assortment of sapphire wire wraps and light plasteel plates, colored deep blue and ivory and very faded from use. His gauntlets reminded her of Polaris', with spiny protrusions on his elbows and close-fitting leather for the gloves.

Dane turned to her. His helm's reflective visor showed Quarrel her own simple armor and the scarf wrapped securely around her neck. The sniper peeked over her shoulder. Well, at least shelooked battle ready. She still didn't know how she felt about using live ammunition against her friends. No, she knew how she felt — terrified.

"Gonna give Gelert a run for her glimmer?" Dane asked, pointing at her sniper. Even through the comms she could sense his smirk.

"Hope so."

"Better watch our backs, fresh meat," Guinefort said, the blank mask of his tinted visor somehow conveying his lack of enthusiasm.

"Let's get on our starting point," Dane said. They began to move toward the transports, heading to the top of the slope. Shaxx's jumpship spooled up with a whine. The Titan was watching them out the entryway.

"Hey! Guardian!" he called out to her.

She turned to face him, wondering if she had done something wrong already.

"Sir?"

"Give 'em hell."

She grinned under her helm and saluted, fist to her chest. The ramp closed and the ship began to rise, coming to a stop over the station.

"He'll oversee the match from there," Dane said. "His Ghost interlinks with ours so Shaxx sees what they do, as well as getting the bird's-eye view. Better be on your game!"

Her heart pounded with anticipation. If she could use that sniper right, perhaps nobody could even get close enough to her for Ghost to have to test his Revival. If they got any closer…well, she was getting pretty solid with that hand cannon, at least on the gun range targets. And she still had the shock dagger tucked into her belt. She'd been practicing with that too. Her heart also pounded for Zinnia. The Light send she didn't have to be the one to put a bullet to her.

Dane and Guinefort began to talk strategy.

"We can count on Gelert sniping while Polaris goes to stealth and flanks," Dane said. "Watch for shimmers in the air, fresh meat. That camouflage can be mighty hard to see even when you're expecting it." Guinefort nodded in agreement.

"If that's the tactic they use, then I'd expect Zinnia to work the middle range, or stick near Polaris," he added.

"My thoughts exactly," Dane said, checking over his own hand cannon. He had a myriad of knives at his waist, and a couple strapped to his boots. She was sure he had others hidden elsewhere. "More likely she'll be glued to his side and wreck his cloaking."

"Maybe he'll tie her up as bait," Guinefort chuckled.

"I wouldn't underestimate her," Quarrel cautioned. "I know she was practicing at the range early this morning with Banshee."

"Yeah. _Practicing_." Dane snickered.

"She'll fire some shots in your general direction," Guinefort said. "All of them off the mark unless she happens to be standing on your toes. You can maybe start to worry when she starts hurling sun at you."

"I'll try and get her out into the open, fresh meat," Dane said. "Give you some sniper practice. She'll be a real easy target. That helm she's wearing looks pretty weak, so one shot should pop her head like a grape. Then we'll have the real trouble to worry about."

Quarrel felt cold listening to him talk about finishing Zinnia so casually. She felt the sudden urge to back out. The Light send it didn't come down to that. If Zinnia had to go, she hoped it would be by anyone but her.

"Any questions?" Dane asked, hands on his hips.

She had to swallow to get the moisture back in her mouth.

"Yeah. Where should I start?"

"Up there." Guinefort pointed toward a catwalk terminus down the slope and just to their right. It overlooked the central gondola dock and gave a long sightline to the east.

"I don't know that she can beat Gelert to position," Dane said, shaking his head. "You might want to start off on the upper dock by those containers." He pointed to a more central location between the two team starting points.

"Gelert might go there," Guinefort said. "She can handle the short range stuff real well without changing scopes."

"Maybe," Dane conceded. "She can also run quick with that sniper. You any good at sniping on the run?" he asked Quarrel.

She was astonished. Who could wield such a cumbersome rifle on the run and still expect to get any shots?

"I've never tried," she said.

"Well then, don't. You'll just trip over your gun, and then we'll have to make fun of you."

"Hang back here and we'll go scout ahead," Guinefort offered. "Once we get an idea where Gelert wants to set up shop, we'll let you know where to go."

"Sounds good," Quarrel said. She marveled at how confident she sounded. Inside, she was quaking, the adrenaline starting to take hold.

"Be ready to move," Dane warned her. "When we say go, you'd better hustle. Just listen to us and you'll be fine. If you get in over your head, run away. Tag our Revives and leave the shooting to us."

 **Our uplinks have just been tested by Shaxx's Ghost** , Ghost said from Rest. **We should be starting shortly.**

"Mack just got the ping," Dane said at the same time.

Guinefort hefted his scout rifle. Dane checked the bullets in his hand cannon's chamber. Quarrel scanned the horizon, looking to the Traveler and the City below, wondering if it was too late to change her mind. Wondering if she would dare back out among the graves of fallen heroes. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

"If I were a betting Exo," Guinefort said, "I'd say Gelert is gonna start directly across from our nest."

"What, like in those trees?" Dane scoffed.

"Stranger things have happened. Didn't you see her hanging upside down and target shooting at camp?"

"She's Dark-blind crazy."

"That she is," Guinefort said. His voice was unmistakably fond. Both of them spoke so casually, as though they didn't realize they were the targets of Gelert's intent. Quarrel had seen that particular stunt. It still left her in disbelief.

"Fifty glimmer she knocks you down first," Dane bet.

Guinefort chuckled.

"She does like to take down the biggest threat right away."

"More like separate the wheat from the chaff."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Their conversation was cut short by a tone in their helms, followed by Shaxx's commanding voice.

"Stick together, Guardians. The match has begun!"

"Match is a go," Dane's voice followed Shaxx's in her helm. "Let's get to work, Guinny!"

"Ten-four," Guinefort acknowledged.

"Got your back," Quarrel chimed in.

The two Hunters ran together down the slope.

"I'm going bottom, see if I can keep them on their side," Guinefort called.

"I'll take top route," Dane answered. He split off toward the station doorway that Guinefort had come through earlier.

 **And now we wait** , Ghost sighed.

Wait. Yes. That was all she needed to do. Just listen for Guinefort or Dane to call out Gelert's position. Until then, she should just do as she was told and stay put.

She hated it.

Just standing there, listening to the faint roar of Shaxx's jumpship and the wind in the trees, was maddening. What was happening? Where was everyone? She glanced toward the east into the waving pine boughs. An image of Gelert hanging from one of those branches with her sniper entered her mind. She decided she had better get low. She crouched to the side of a modest rock outcropping, where she hoped she was well out of scope sight. Was she really supposed to just hang back here? Part of her was immensely relieved. Part of her wanted to run into the fray, to find the others before they found her. To start the chase — and end it, quickly.

"Nothing moving above," Guinefort called out. "Haven't seen any activity in the docks. Can't see Gelert."

"Why don't you stand on something real tall and look?" Dane suggested. "Maybe wave your arms a little bit?"

"Yeah, you'd like that. So would she. I learned my lesson last time."

Dane chuckled.

Guinefort could be as prideful as Dane, but he also seemed unable to resist a joke at his own expense. A lot of Hunter humor seemed that way. She wondered if Titans were much the same. They seemed like a cheerful lot, if Boone and Maya were anything to go by. Warlocks…well, what did Warlocks joke about?

The seconds crawled by. She shifted on her heels, licked her dry lips.

"Slow start," Dane grunted. "It's gonna be one of those games."

"Should I pitch a grenade?" Guinefort asked. "Maybe I can flush Zinnia out. She panics easy."

Unfortunately, Quarrel could imagine that.

"Nah, not yet," Dane said. "I'm north side right now. Let me get a little closer to the middle, then you can jump up and we can pinch 'em."

A shot rang out, echoing along the ridgeline.

"That'll be Gelly!" Guinefort called.

"You got eyes on her?"

"She's crouched on the crates! I swear she wasn't there a second ago! Just about took my damn head off when I left cover. How in the hell does she drag that sniper up so fast?"

"That's your cue, fresh meat!" Dane said. "Get up to that nest! Go, go, go!"

The words acted like a spur on her already frayed nerves. She scrambled to her feet and took off running.

"Keep your head down!" Guinefort warned.

Quarrel dropped into a crouch, scrambling up the catwalk stairs and throwing herself onto her stomach. Her hands were slick with sweat in her gauntlets. With every minuscule movement she felt like she was being watched and kept imagining the sensation of her head being blown apart by a sniper bullet. How badly would it hurt? Would she truly die before Ghost Revived her?

She pulled the sniper from her back with all the care she could. Now she needed to get to a point where she could actually see anything more than the railing.

"I'm gonna try to get Gelly out," Guinefort said. "Fresh meat, you better take control of that nest. Don't let anyone near me!"

"Got it!" she said, her voice strained.

"Don't give your position away!" Dane added. "Get low behind that pillar if you have to. Take no shots until you have a decent chance of making it. Damn newbies are always wasting ammo — agh!"

Dane cursed, followed by a thump from his comms.

 **Guardian down!**

The Ghost's voice was unfamiliar to her.

"Woo!" Dane cheered. "That's how it's done! Chew on that lead a while! Yeah!"

Who was already down?

"And he lives!" Guinefort laughed. "First blood against Polaris!"

Polaris had been defeated? It had happened so fast!

"All right, fresh meat!" Guinefort called to her. "Get ready!"

A percussive blast echoed around the central dock. Guinefort had sent a Light above his head.

"Now! Now!" Guinefort yelled. "Gelly's moving! Cover me!"

Quarrel lurched above the railing, the heavy sniper threatening to topple her balance. She was beginning to sorely regret her choice. A crackle of flame vanished on the upper dock. Guinefort was leaping up with his Light to gain the higher ground. She caught a flash of movement heading inside the station — an ice blue cloak. She brought her scope up far too late. Gelert vanished around the corner. Guinefort skidded to a halt at the dock's station entrance, unwilling to follow.

"Where you at, Dane?" he called. "Gelly's moving inside to the east."

"Still below, watching starlight's Ghost. Hey, cutie! Long time no see!"

Ghost clicked in annoyance.

 **Could he gloat any harder?**

Quarrel brought her scope back up.

"I need intel, Ghost," she whispered, fearing her voice would carry.

 **I can interface some of my telemetry directly to your helm. Hold on…there. How's that?** Her visor began feeding a confusing array of information, practically blocking out her vision. Was this what he was processing every second?

"Whoa! Too much!"

 **Whoops! Here. How about radar, distance, and windspeed for starters?** Much of the cacophony disappeared.

"Much better," she sighed.

She wondered if he was itching to tell her everything. Just because he wasn't allowed to share that data didn't mean he wasn't sampling it.

She peered through the scope, first toward the east and then sweeping back toward the center of the station. No movement, no signs of any other Guardians besides Guinefort. She raised her head a tiny bit to watch the doorway that Guinefort was covering. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Shaxx had to be crazy to have ever thought up this kind of combat between Guardians.

"Any sign of Zinnia?" Guinefort grunted.

"I haven't seen her," Quarrel answered.

"Ha! I bet they told her to hang back too."

"One of them is going to try and tag Polaris' Revival," Dane said.

Guinefort was sidestepping quietly around stacks of shipping containers, peering to the ground below him. Where had Gelert gone?

"Gelly's in here somewhere," Guinefort grunted. "My radar is going nuts."

A distant explosion sounded from the north side of the station. She flinched.

"Found Zinnia!" Dane cried. "She's got Sol grenades!"

"Keep her busy!"

"Oh really, Guinny? Is that what I'm supposed to do?" Dane chuckled. His mirth didn't last long. "Damn! She's pushing the Revive! I can't get —"

Quarrel heard gunshots, the bark of handcannons.

 **Guardian down!** Perdita cried.

Quarrel's heart skipped a beat.

"Got her!" Dane exulted. "Just got to — dammit! Gelert!"

Two shotgun blasts.

 **Guardian down!**

"Aw, hell!" Guinefort groaned. "Come on, Dane! Fresh meat, get down here! We're going for the Revive!"

Quarrel stowed her sniper rifle on her back and dashed off the nest for the central dock. One burst of Light took her up top. Guinefort careened beside her.

"Gelert's gonna try to get Zinnia and Polaris back up. Head into the station. There's a dropdown dead ahead. Get some coverage down there. I'm going to push from the side!" He broke off, running to the east end of the dock.

"Ghost, can you show me friendly signatures?" she asked. Two blue dots jumped onto her radar while she dashed inside. Those would be Guinefort, whose dot was quickly heading out of range, and Dane's Ghost, static just below her. She entered the cavernous cargo bay and slid to a stop. An old elevator shaft must have been the dropdown point Guinefort was talking about. That, or the empty overlook next to it. She crept forward. She would try the overlook first…

A heavy scout report broke the tense silence. A thick slug smashed into her shoulder. Quarrel reeled. She crawled to the wall away from the overlook. One glance at her arm showed a stream of blood quickly pooling on the floor. She was relieved to see she still had an arm left, though it hung useless now.

 **I've got you!** Ghost cried. She grit her teeth, eyes watering, until the healing wave took the pain away. Her flesh simply spat the bullet out.

The proximity radar flashed bright red. Gelert was moving in below. Quarrel freed her hand cannon and flung herself at the ledge. Down the sights she could see Dane's Ghost directly below. Perdita hovered practically right next to the heavy-shelled Ghost, and Polaris' Ghost practically on top of her. All had their fins stretched out from their casings, oscillating wildly around gathered Light. She swallowed hard at the sight of the bodies lying motionless on the ground. A red pool was spreading beneath them all. The Ghosts had their eyes trained on each other. Gelert had to be down there, somewhere.

She dropped down to the floor below. Her heart hammered in her throat.

"How do I tag?" she whispered to Ghost.

 **Get close for three seconds!**

Dane's Ghost turned to her. She fell into a defensive crouch, teeth clenched and stomach churning. Her hands shivered on the hand cannon grip, ready to fire at the slightest movement. Ghost began to count.

 **Three…two…one!**

Everything happened at once. The gathered Light shot into Dane's body. His Ghost disappeared to Rest. Gelert came charging around the corner, sliding under Polaris' Ghost. Quarrel fired at the Awoken's feet, desperate. The Light shot into Polaris. Dane leaped up from the ground, sailing over to Gelert. Polaris threw himself at Perdita. Light shot into Zinnia. Gelert rolled and sprang up in front of Quarrel. Quarrel lashed out with the butt of her hand cannon, unsheathing her dagger with her other hand. Gelert's scout bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall, followed by the sound of shotgun blasts from Dane and Polaris as they ducked and dodged around each other. Zinnia sailed into the air, her Warlock float carrying her far overhead.

Guinefort leaped into the fray, ablaze with Light. He had become something else, a thunderbolt, liquid deadliness that left ozone smell in Quarrel's helm. Gelert began firing at Guinefort, and then she too exploded in a spray of Light and arcing electricity. She held a surging blade of Light, as long as her forearm and crackling with heat.

Guinefort skimmed through the air, impossibly sinuous, and skewered Gelert's stomach with his own crackling blade. Gelert had no time to even cry out. She was simply consumed in a wave of Light — but not before her blade freed Guinefort's head from his shoulders. Their Ghosts hung over the ashes that remained.

 **Guardian down!** they cried as one.

Quarrel felt a jolt. Not because she'd been touched by the electricity, but as if her Light were trying to follow the two Hunters. She recognized that tugging. It was just like —

The Golden Gun erupted. Fire burst through her skin. She spun to Polaris. Polaris saw her, leaped again, and simply vanished. Her first bullet passed harmlessly through the air where he'd just been. Zinnia was floating down toward the ground, firing wildly at Dane. The Hunter dove aside.

Quarrel turned, desperate to keep an eye on Polaris. She caught a glimpse of him before he vanished again. Her next bullet singed the floor an angry red.

A cold knife went straight into her side, sliding between her ribs with shocking ease. Her Light winked out. She twisted away, knowing she was done for, knowing Polaris had caught her. He raised his shotgun —

And slumped forward, his gun and knife falling out of his hands and his lifeless body on top of them. She was left staring at his Ghost blinking back at her. Beyond the Ghost was Dane, his hand cannon smoking. She barely felt Ghost's healing through the adrenaline.

Zinnia darted forward. The Warlock shot a palm out. A fiery burst caught Dane's cloak alight. He cursed and rolled backwards. Zinnia stumbled, surprised by her success. Quarrel rolled aside.

She came to her feet with her hand cannon leveled, staring down the barrel straight into Zinnia's weapon. For one horrible moment they stood there, both of them shocked that it had come down to this. She had impossibly long seconds to see everything happening. The little Warlock had forgotten Banshee's advice: her shoulders were too high and too tight.

"I'm sorry," Zinnia said.

 _Crack! Crack! Crack!_

Zinnia shuddered, Dane's bullets punching through her thick vestments into her back. She jerked forward, gasping.

 _Crack!_

Quarrel watched herself send a bullet through Zinnia's stomach, nerveless fingers squeezing the trigger. Zinnia collapsed, hitting the ground hard right at her feet.

 **Guardian down!** Perdita cried.

Quarrel staggered back from Zinnia's corpse, tripped over her own feet, and hit the floor beneath Guinefort's Ghost. She clawed at her helmet buckles, feeling an all-too-familiar sickness rising in her throat. She coughed bile onto the inside of her visor.

 **Three…two…one!** Ghost called.

Guinefort appeared in a burst of Light.

"That's the match!" Shaxx's voice boomed through her comms. "Weapons down, Guardians!"

Dane laughed and laughed.

* * *

Quarrel sat against the wall where she'd fallen, scrubbing her scarf over her face and drinking deep of the cold air. Polaris leaned over her, his hand on her shoulder.

"That's it. Nice, deep breaths. Let the adrenaline pass."

She tried to pace her shaking breath. In and out. Nothing else to think about. The fight was over. She still couldn't help flinching whenever Polaris moved.

"Sorry," she panted. "I'm just…it's just…"

"No need to explain," Polaris chuckled. We've all been there. You've just run around shooting your friends in the face. That's enough to rattle anyone's nerves. We call that Crucible shock."

Shock was a bit of an understatement.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "Honestly, I'd be worried if you weren't a little rattled. It's one thing to fight the Fallen. It's another to turn on fellow Guardians. Plus, I'd like to think I'm a little more formidable than a Dreg — oh, you missed a spot." He grinned and pointed at her cheek. She scrubbed her face again. The scarf and the inside of her helm would need a good cleaning.

"A _little_ more formidable," Zinnia sighed. The Warlock was sitting cross-legged on the ground just beside Quarrel, alive and well. She had her helm off too and was combing her fingers through her loose red curls.

Dane was busy with Gelert and Guinefort, laughing and slapping them on the shoulders. Dane and Gelert's breath smoked in the air, and steam rose in little plumes from Guinefort's plates. Dane's cloak was quite singed at the ends, courtesy of Zinnia. Quarrel spat on the concrete. She could still taste bile, but at least it wasn't all over her face anymore.

Dane broke away from his crew to come to her side.

"Nice job, fresh meat," he said, holding out a hand. She was pleased that this time she didn't flinch.

"Thanks. You too."

That earned a chuckle from Dane, as though it had gone without saying.

"It was a good game all around," Polaris said.

Gelert nodded at Polaris with perhaps the most approving look Quarrel had ever seen her give.

"Yeah, good game!" Guinefort agreed.

"Pretty short as these things go," Dane said. "Maybe we should have a second round?"

"I don't know about these two," Polaris said, gesturing at Quarrel and Zinnia, "but I've got to head off."

Quarrel was infinitely grateful for that. She didn't want to admit that she didn't think she could go through something like that again so soon. She kept glancing over at Zinnia, expecting the Warlock to round on her at any moment. She had _shot_ her!

Dane shrugged, his grin now satisfied on top of smug.

"Let's check in with Shaxx to get the official ruling." By his happy tone, he couldn't wait to hear the Crucible Handler declare Alpha's victory.

Polaris offered a hand to Quarrel, helping her to her feet. Zinnia sprang up from the ground, smoothing her vestments, apparently unconcerned about the enormous bloodstains covering her front. They began the trek through the complex to the ships. Polaris led the way as Dane dropped back to walk with Quarrel. The Hunter had something to say. She could feel it.

"You handled yourself well for your first time," he said. "Most greenhorns choke in a big way." He glanced at Zinnia, who was still fussing with her vestments. "Why don't you run with us again soon? You could be top of the leaderboards."

"Sounds like a big time commitment," she said. It was hard to concentrate on much right now.

Zinnia was trying to watch them from the corner of her eye while pretending not to care.

"It is," Dane said, "but it's worth it. These skills translate directly to battle. In fact, I think you'd find most engagements to be pretty yawn-worthy after a lot of Crucible training."

She could imagine there was at least a small measure of truth to this. After all, their simple games of hide and go seek had prepared her in some ways for today.

"What do you say?" Dane asked. "You aren't going to get a lot of offers, I can tell you that. Most Guardians aren't willing to work with the newly Reborn. But I think you've got promise. They'll be sorry they didn't come clamoring for your training."

"What are you proposing exactly? More matches?"

Zinnia was now no longer even trying to hide her stare. She glanced between her and Dane with open curiosity.

"More matches. More patrols with Guinny and Gelert. Whatever we feel is necessary."

They were approaching the slope where the transports were waiting. Shaxx's personal craft was already on the ground, the Titan standing on the ramp, watching them come in. They lined up before him.

"Congratulations, Alpha team," he said. "Your teamwork has carried you through to victory. I witnessed some distinguished performances — as well as some decidedly messy strategies."

Zinnia fidgeted in line.

"Learn from today. Do not put this battle from your mind as inconsequential. Every fight has a lesson. This match is in history now. Go forth, and prepare for the fight to come."

Polaris led a salute. Shaxx pressed a fist to his chestplate in answer and strode into the jumpship cabin. Apparently, they were dismissed.

"Hey, fresh meat!" Dane called to her while they trudged to the ships. "Ride with us! I want to talk some more."

She hesitated. Zinnia was frowning at Dane, fingers twisting in her sleeves.

"Do you mind?" she asked Zinnia, keeping her voice low.

"Go ahead," Zinnia answered. Her smile was a little too stiff.

"I'll see you back at the Tower," she told the Warlock. Zinnia waved and followed Polaris back to the transport. Quarrel joined the Hunters at their ramp.

"We're gonna head to the Lounge," Dane said, entering the cabin. "I'll buy you a drink and we can talk shop."

She had the distinct feeling it meant more badgering to join his crew, but she supposed she could at least listen. Who was she to say no to a free drink?

The pilot Frame closed the door behind them while they buckled in. Dane sat across from her, Gelert and Guinefort on the two seats next to her. As the ship ascended, Dane and Guinefort laughed and joked with each other, speaking animatedly about the fight and the intense moments it contained. Dane mentioned the incredible feat of Light Gelert and Guinefort had pulled off — the Blade Dance, he called it.

"Can I learn to do that?" she asked eagerly.

"Gelert could show you how," Guinefort said. "But then she'd have to kill you."

Gelert shoved Guinefort's shoulder and the Exo laughed.

"That was her signature move until I figured it out. She refused to tell me how it's done. Now we're hard pressed to say who does it better."

Gelert gave him a withering look.

"You still flail around too much," she said.

That just made Guinefort laugh some more.

"I gotta say, I didn't think you had it in you to put Zinnia down," Dane said. He had a special talent for getting right to the heart of prickly subjects. Quarrel shrugged and toyed with her helm buckles.

"I just did what I had to," she said. It was easy to say, but not so much to believe. She tried to tell herself that Zinnia would have shot back, given the chance. Except the Warlock had hesitated. What did it mean that she had not?

"Yeah, well, she's going to take it bad. She thinks that since you're her friend, you were going to go easy on her. Don't let her whining get to you. It's like Shaxx says: the Crucible is no place for mercy."

"I can see that," she said, remembering Guinefort and Gelert executing each other in the blink of an eye.

She changed the subject back to the Blade Dance. They argued about its origins. Dane maintained it was Cayde-6 who had started it, and Gelert was adamant that the feat was much older than him. Guinefort thought it had come from a long-gone Hunter who had tried to imitate a Titan's Fist of Havoc. She wasn't sure what that was, but by the way Guinefort explained it, she didn't want to find out first hand. The three Hunters all agreed on one thing, however: she would have to join them in order to learn more. All through docking in the Hangar and walking to the Hunter's Lounge, Dane and Guinefort needled her.

"I don't know what you're waiting for, fresh meat!" Dane sighed. He sprawled across one of the sofas nearest the brazier. Gelert settled on the other sofa, a polite distance from Quarrel. Guinefort went further back to fetch the drinks. Though it was well before noon, he had no trouble procuring any.

"Keg's almost out," Guinefort informed them, handing Dane a foaming glass. "You're next on the list to restock, Dane." The cups in the Lounge were a motley assortment, some of them chipped or missing handles. At least they looked clean. Mostly.

"Think you can spot me this time, Guinny?" Dane asked. "You know I'm saving up for another helm."

"What are you asking me for? I don't drink it." Guinefort handed another glass to Quarrel, then presented Gelert's with a flourish. He had a can of synesthete tucked under his arm, which he cracked into, letting the vapors wash over his noseplate.

"Because you're such a nice guy and will do it anyways," Dane said, grinning.

"You mean pushover," Guinefort grunted. He flopped onto the sofa between Quarrel and Gelert, causing Gelert to slop her beer mid-sip. She glowered at the Exo and wiped her forearm across her mouth.

"Whatever you want to call it," Dane shrugged. "So long as the tab gets paid."

Quarrel took a drink. The beer was probably not the best idea for her nearly empty stomach, though it was wonderful for helping to take the edge off. Sitting and talking around the brazier felt much like sitting around the campfire in the mountains. Guinefort even took out his notebook after a while and began to doodle. She settled comfortably into their conversation, eased along by the alcohol, which they all replenished a couple of times.

"What else are you doing today, fresh meat?" Dane asked.

"Dunno," she said. By now, the drinks were definitely going to her head. Ghost was going to have something to say about it.

"You won some glimmer from that match. You should get yourself a new weapon."

"I did?" she said. "You lay a wager on me or something?" She certainly hadn't agreed to anything like that!

"Are you kidding? You have to be much better before I'll bet on you!" Dane chuckled.

"Shaxx knows the fighting is hard on your stuff, so he offers a little glimmer for the winners," Guinefort explained.

"That's awfully nice of him," she said, feeling suddenly very amicable toward the Crucible Handler. Maybe she would finally be able to replace her melted rifle.

"He's got glimmer to burn," Dane said. "There are perks to being the Hero of Twilight Gap. Besides, he can cut deals with the Foundries that would insult them coming from anyone else."

"They're only too eager to get their weapons into the Crucible," Guinefort said. "The happier Shaxx is, the more likely they get a contract."

"He won't be bought," Gelert said.

Dane raised an eyebrow at the Awoken.

"Everyone can be bought."

They continued to talk until Quarrel had to admit to herself that she was too fatigued to be good company any longer.

"Come with me to the Armory later," Dane offered after she excused herself. "I'll help you pick out something good. Banshee takes credit, so don't worry if you can't afford anything yet!"

As predicted, Ghost grumbled about her intoxication on the way back to her apartments. Her bed was calling stronger than the allure of food in the cafeteria. She promised him she would eat a hearty dinner when she woke up. The match had exhausted her, all of her fatigue crashing down at once as she wobbled on her feet and punched in her door code. Before she threw herself into bed, she scrubbed her scarf under the bathroom faucet and hung it over the doorknob. It didn't feel right sending it off to the laundry. She also zealously brushed her teeth. Beer and her revisited stomach contents left a horrible combination in her mouth.

She slept until her door buzzer went off several hours later. Getting out of bed was a struggle. Her mouth was uncomfortably dry. A headache was settling into her temples. She wondered if Ghost could heal it away for her. He probably could, but not before going into an indignant lecture first.

She blinked sleepily down at Zinnia, who was fresh-faced and cleaned up from the morning fight. Even before she asked, Quarrel knew the invitation was to dinner.

"Let me get changed first," she yawned.

Food was not as welcome as it had sounded before her nap. Quarrel's fatigue and headache were getting the better of her, and the noise of the cafeteria did not help. They were right in the thick of dinner rush. Zinnia chattered happily about everything that came to mind. The Archives, the upcoming training mission, what she thought Shenu might have them do. The only thing she didn't talk about was the Crucible. Quarrel rather wanted to leave the subject alone, but the memory of the little Warlock doubling over from a bullet to the gut would not leave her mind. She had to speak up before it drove her crazy.

"Hey, I'm sorry about today," she said, poking at a bit of pot roast with her fork. It had looked good on the buffet. Now she was regretting the choice. The rich smell made her already touchy stomach turn.

"What do you mean?" Zinnia asked.

"You know, the match…"

"It was a close game," Zinnia said. "I'm not mad that you guys won or anything."

"I didn't want to shoot you," she mumbled.

"Oh, that." Zinnia waved a hand. "You shouldn't worry about it. Marina always says that love in the Crucible means taking the shot." She spoke calmly enough. Quarrel studied her, wondering if she was really as casual as she sounded. Zinnia kept her eyes on her plate, chasing peas around with her spoon. Quarrel decided to leave well enough alone.

Zinnia did show real disappointment when she declined her offer to come over and watch vidscreen programming after dinner.

"I was going to go to the Armory," Quarrel admitted.

Zinnia's disappointment was quickly replaced with excitement.

"I'll go with you! I'd like to talk to Banshee anyways."

"Okay. Dane was going to help me choose a new gun," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. Zinnia's excitement waned.

"Oh. Well…actually, I should probably finish packing for tomorrow. Maybe another time. Um…do you want to come over after that?"

Quarrel hesitated. Saying no to Zinnia much more was going to really hurt her feelings. Her head and stomach weren't doing any better, but they probably weren't going to any time soon.

"Sure," she said. "For a little while."

It was the right move. Zinnia was all smiles again, launching into talk about her favorite shows. Quarrel listened as best she could, her mind drifting to the Cosmodrome, to mountainsides and stars.


	29. The Question

The sun dipped below the horizon, melting into the dark sea. Quarrel shivered in the wind blowing off the waves, high up on the cliffs above the Forgotten Shore. Mountains made an imposing ring in the distance behind her. The sea opened up before her, receded from the craggy coast. She wanted to jump into that wind and fly off across the deep waters, race to the horizon where the sun had set. She contented herself with gathering deadwood for the campfire.

Turning away from the coast, she scrambled under gnarled trees and around boulders, searching the ground for suitable kindling. She would have to be quick to beat the coming night. A few meters away, Zinnia scratched around a thick clump of brush. The Warlock pulled up a particularly good looking piece of firewood and added it to the stack in her arms. There was still enough daylight to see her face, windburnt cheeks turning red against her blue skin. Zinnia had complained about the cold, but there was a snapping light in her green eyes and a grin on her face whenever she looked Quarrel's way. She was happy to be away from the Tower, even if camping wasn't her favorite way to spend the night.

 **Want me to transmat those for you?** Ghost asked from Rest. Shenu had deemed it safe for them to scout for firewood without their helms on, but not for the Ghosts to roam outside of camp. Shenu being the senior Guardian on their training mission, there was little she or Zinnia could do to protest. What had surprised Quarrel was the Ghosts' compliance with his order. Ghost had grumbled about her lack of head protection, but he had stayed at Rest.

"No, thanks," she replied. "It's not heavy and the camp isn't far. Besides, Shenu has forbidden it, remember?"

 **Hmph. I remember** , Ghost buzzed.

Zinnia tramped through the icy grass to her side.

"Do you think this is enough?" she asked. Her arms were barely wrapping around the bundle she had gathered.

"I suppose," Quarrel replied. Judging by the fires she had made with Dane's team, they had gathered plenty for the night.

Zinnia turned up the slope they stood on, heading back toward camp.

"Let's go!" she said. "The sooner we get the fire built, the sooner we can eat!"

Quarrel followed, keeping close to the little Warlock. The two stayed between the grooves of the hills as they made their way back. Giant, abandoned buildings crowned with satellite array sat on the bluffs far down the coast to her right, just visible in the dusk. That was their destination come morning. Tonight they camped well outside the boundaries of the Cosmodrome, the better to train and sleep without being hassled by the Fallen who roamed the area. Here on the coast, the snow was not so thick as where she had escaped with Ghost. The landscape was still by no means thawed.

Near the crest of the rise, Zinnia hooked around to the left, slanting into a narrow gully. When the path became a steeper drop, she pushed off the rocks and floated with ease to the next stepping stone. Quarrel leaped from rock to rock, pleased by her growing ability to control her bursts of Light.

"You've been practicing," Zinnia said when she landed next to her.

"A little," Quarrel said. They didn't need to talk about where she had come by that practice.

"You should try to glide next time. It's so much easier."

"I still have no idea how you do that," she replied.

They fell into step on the gravelly slope, crunching their way down to the semicircular rock shelter their tents stood in.

"You can't think about the _down_ ," Zinnia said, trying to explain. "The Light doesn't give you complete freedom from gravity, but it's sure close! Shenu is always telling me to think of it as stepping up into the air, like it were just another staircase. That's easy for him to say!" she sighed. "He can stay afloat forever!"

"Gelert can almost glide," Quarrel said without thinking. "Maybe I'll pick it up too," she finished lamely.

"Maybe." Zinnia looked off toward the campsite, the corners of her mouth tight.

Shenu was sitting on a small folding stool between their two tents. The Warlock would not dream of sitting on a split log. He glanced up from his datapad at their approach.

"You may make a small fire," he said. "Be ready to extinguish it should I give the word."

"Yes, Guardian," Zinnia replied dutifully. Quarrel echoed her deferentially.

Zinnia sighed with relief as they set their bundles down in a pile. She dusted her gauntlets together, wiping the bark and dirt off. Despite her thick vestments and the layers of ammunition belts, pouches, and leg guards bulking her up, she still looked tiny. Maybe even smaller due to all the armor. Quarrel was wearing the same armor she'd had on patrol, with the exception of a Warlock-styled helm loaned from Zinnia that had mercifully better audio sensors. She didn't look as put together as the two Warlocks, but at least she was protected. Zinnia wore drab browns and forest greens to better blend into the landscape. Shenu differed sharply from her color scheme. His vestments and armor were predominately rich black and silver. Quarrel rather thought it would make him stick out like a sore thumb against the stark landscape, but of course she kept her tongue. A senior Warlock could dress as he pleased.

The whole camp was something different than she had expected. Shenu and Zinnia had both brought far more than was necessary for a night out, requiring the Ghosts' help to transmat the luggage to the campsite rather than carrying it in themselves. That didn't stop Shenu from issuing a ban on any further transmat. He'd placed his stool and said something about the merits of manual labor for Novices before sending them off for firewood.

Quarrel squatted on her heels beside Zinnia as the Warlock began to pull out select sticks from their pile and arrange them in a precarious little square.

"Tory showed me how to make a good campfire," she said confidently. "How to set up the kindling so it catches. Except we aren't going to need matches!" She inspected her handiwork for a moment. "Watch this!" she grinned. She thrust out a gauntleted hand. Fire flared from her palm, curling about her fingers and rushing forward with a _whoosh_. The little stick pile she had built scattered in the force. Showers of sparks flew up into the air.

"Oops!" Zinnia squeaked. They leaped forward to grab the kindling, stamping on the embers. They turned to see if Shenu had witnessed anything. He was frowning at them both.

"Stop messing around!" he warned. "If you can't properly build a fire, then we will not have one!"

"Sorry, Guardian!" Zinnia said, a pained grimace on her face.

Quarrel helped her rebuild the kindling, adding a little ring of stone around the wood. It wouldn't do to burn the steppes down. This time, Zinnia summoned a ball of flame upon her palm. The orb glowed, a tiny sun in her hand, casting a warm light on their faces in the deep twilight. She deposited it carefully into the pile of kindling. The flaming orb caught the bits of twig and bark alight, flames quickly growing to lap at the larger sticks. Zinnia withdrew her hand, smiling at her work.

They gathered the cooking supplies and set about making dinner. A teakettle, a pot and stand, a couple of ladles — practically a whole kitchen had been brought, and they were only eating field rations! Zinnia assured her the rations would need some doctoring to be edible. The Warlock emptied the packs into the pot and dug a couple tiny jars of spice from a pouch around her waist. Leave it to Zinnia to leave room for foodstuffs in her packing! Water from canisters in their ships completed the stew mixture. Fresh water was still buried under ice in the Cosmodrome, and Shenu had warned them not to drink of any they found as it could still be contaminated with chemicals leeched from the crumbling launch towers and refineries.

Though Zinnia told her not to expect too much from their meal, a pleasant enough aroma began to waft from the pot after a while. Zinnia dutifully tended to the cooking, speaking happily of camping trips of the past. It seemed that Tory and Polaris had done much to try and show her the ropes once, and Zinnia proudly proclaimed that she had "improved" upon their suggestions to make the whole affair more comfortable.

Perdita and Ghost joined them from Rest. Stars began to wink overhead, and soon night was upon them, the only light in their camp coming from the fire and a little directional lantern Shenu had set next to his stool. The senior Warlock did not move closer to join them, nor did he give them any acknowledgment at all. He was engrossed in his reading, muttering to himself every now and then.

Ghost and Perdita engaged in lively discussion about the Cosmodrome. It seemed their earlier exploits here with the Hive had renewed interest in the site. Cayde's scouts had begun to comb through the wreckage with fervor, their objective to clear the Fallen and Hive from any skeletal remains they might encounter. Quarrel thought of the skulls and shattered bones she had seen on the crumbling highway. Would any of them one day wake to a Ghost's call?

The stew began to bubble, and Zinnia started water boiling in the little teakettle. Quarrel retrieved their chow kits from the tent and the little Warlock slipped away to serve her Mentor. She hastened back to the fire and eagerly accepted the bowl Quarrel ladled out for her. They sat on a couple of good sized rocks they had found for the purpose and blew on their spoons. Quarrel had to admit that, while impractical, Zinnia's spices had made the field rations much more palatable. Though Zinnia sighed over the taste still, she wolfed her serving down as though Ella herself had prepared it.

Perdita and Ghost's discussion began to grow heated.

 **Even if the Fallen have extracted all the AI cores from the colony ships, there might still be backups somewhere in one of these facilities** , Perdita said.

 **Which I'm sure the Fallen have already retrieved as well** , Ghost buzzed. **You know they will pick up and horde anything they can find.**

 **So we shouldn't even bother looking for them?** Perdita asked, her tone cool.

 **I didn't say that. I suppose the cores might be of some interest to us. Personally, I wouldn't go out of my way for them.**

 **What if the Fallen manage to restart the programs?** Perdita said. **Those were sophisticated Golden Age AI. Imagine Fallen ketches being operated by them!**

 **Their servitors already serve that purpose!** Ghost scoffed. **Next to them, I think the Fallen don't care for ancient AI one bit! They're much too simple.**

 **Oh? You're an expert on Golden Age technology now, are you?** Perdita challenged. **I wasn't aware.**

Ghost's fins drew down.

 **I know some things about it!** he muttered. **But I think we can both admit that the servitors are unlike any design we've seen on Earth. Right now, they far outclass any AI of the City!**

 **But this is** ** _Golden Age_** **AI!**

 **Well, maybe the servitors are still better than Golden Age work! Think about it: wouldn't we already be seeing evidence of those cores on their ships?**

 **Perhaps they've just missed finding them** , Perdita clicked. **It's easy enough to do, even if you know what you're looking for.**

 **Hmph! They'd have to be pretty dull not to find an AI core!**

 **As I recall** , Perdita chirped mildly, **it took** ** _you_** **several passes through this place to find your Guardian.**

Ghost dissolved into a series of terse clicks and stutters. Perdita answered sharply in kind. Their fins snapped and spun in the firelight as they argued with each other, like a couple of angry, chattering birds.

Zinnia giggled behind her hand.

"They must really be going at it if they've gone to the Ghost language!"

Quarrel shook her head helplessly at Ghost.

"That's enough!" Shenu called. He was walking toward them with his lantern in hand. The two Ghosts turned to face him, looked at each other, then zipped off to their respective Guardians. Perdita went to Rest. Ghost hovered over Quarrel's shoulder. She gave him a look. He gazed into the campfire, fins twitching ever so slightly.

Shenu came close enough that the firelight glowed off of his armor buckles and ammunition belts. His black vestments shone like onyx. His curious Bond was visible only by its utter refusal to reflect any of the flames. It circled his arm in an absence of light darker than the night sky.

"Finish your meals and grab your armor. We leave in five minutes."

It was not a suggestion. They nodded and asked no questions of him. Shenu left them to go into his tent. She and Zinnia hurriedly scraped at their bowls, gobbling up the last few bites of dinner and taking a quick drink from their canteens before packing up the cookware. Shenu's ban on non-emergency transmat meant they were left with dirty dishes to attend to. The spoons and bowls could be licked clean, but the cookpot was still hot. They didn't want to leave it out for animals to be attracted into the camp, so they did a quick wash with the remaining teakettle water while Zinnia held the pot in her gauntlets, protected from the heat. Quarrel stashed the kitchenware in the tent and grabbed their helms.

Ghost hovered at the campfire, watching her and occasionally turning his eye up toward the distant coastline. She felt her skin prickle every time he did that. What was out there?

She helped Zinnia adjust her armor beside the fire. It was getting easier to put her own gear on now, and she only had to hesitate a little at the unfamiliar helm Zinnia had loaned her. It smelled faintly of vanilla, courtesy of Perdita's zealous cleaning. The Warlock had argued it wasn't dirty, but Perdita had quickly reminded her of all the interesting things that went on in a Guardian's helm. _Sweat, tears, mucus, blood, brain matter…_ the little Ghost had rattled off a list until Zinnia quieted her. Quarrel remembered her own accidents and was decidedly grateful for Perdita's care. Zinnia had assured her there was nothing to worry about — as well as telling her that the nanoprobes had been disabled. She wasn't sure she wanted to know how those worked.

Immediately she could tell that the helm was far more comfortable than the sweaty, screeching monstrosity she'd bought. The visor was smooth and almost completely unscathed. Perhaps it hadn't even seen battle yet. She breathed in and out a few times, testing the respirators. The comforting scent was nice, but it was masking her ability to smell the air. That displeased her. How could Zinnia stand to have any of her senses dulled?

They checked their weapons. Zinnia had her hand cannon strapped to her side. A small scout rifle hung from a harness on her back. Quarrel patted the hand cannon at her own thigh. Dane had helped her choose a good weapon. One she would be paying off for quite some time. If she hadn't already committed to this Guardian business, the pricetag on the hand cannon would have done it for her.

"All set?" Zinnia asked.

"Ready," she said.

They stood by, anxiously adjusting straps and glancing around the shadowy camp until Shenu emerged from his tent. He was armed and helmed, a shining scout rifle slung over his shoulder and a sleek fusion rifle harnessed on his back. His helm looked carved of black marble, a smooth planed thing whose grooves pinched the visor into a narrow V.

"Are you prepared?" he asked, his stern voice coming through clear on their helm comms, already tuned to each other's signals.

"Yes, Guardian."

He nodded once, then stretched out a hand to the fire. An odd, low hum began. Quarrel felt a pull in her guts, as though her Light were waking up, and then a flash of blinding ultraviolet ejected from his palm into the flames. The hum grew into a shrill whine. The ultraviolet flash coalesced into a ball that the fire was immediately sucked into. The strange Light winked out, leaving spots in her vision. She blinked them away. The ashes in the fire ring were not even smoking.

"Let's go," Shenu commanded.

* * *

Shenu paused just below the crest of a hill. He cocked his head and stared off into the night where the shallow sea murmured against the shore.

There must have been something wrong with the nanoprobes in his helm. It wasn't the aural cluster — the audio sensors were performing beautifully, his ears picking up sounds for at least a kilometer around, easily distinguishing the shush of water on rock and the soft padding of a night prowler walking across the beach below. The visual cluster was also to his satisfaction. The helm's night vision aide was impeccable, though it was turned low. He liked to let his intuition guide him as they walked across the wintry sea cliffs.

What was it that was disorienting him, then? His armor and weapons were all familiar standards that didn't encumber his travel. Ushabti was quiet. And yet…

Something was pulling his attention around like a lodestone, sending a vertiginous sensation all over his body. He turned to look back over his shoulder. In the deep night, even with the brilliant canopy of stars overhead, he could not make out the object he knew was hidden behind distant cliffs. With the aid of the latest scouting reports, he had known a Hive Seeder was there before they ever arrived in the Cosmodrome. Was it the source of his discomfort? Why would it suddenly be giving him trouble now?

Zinnia and the newly Reborn waited several steps behind him. They had the sense to keep silent on their trek, even if they didn't move as quietly as he liked. Well, Zinnia didn't. She was getting better, he could grudgingly admit, but she had a long way to go. Quarrel — ridiculous name! — was surprisingly lightfooted when she remembered herself. He could almost think she had learned a lesson from her Rebirth into enemy territory, were it not for the way she let her wonder keep her exposed in the open for far too long. Fortunately for all of them, Luna was hiding her face tonight, letting them move in darkness. Ushabti's thorough scans still showed no Fallen nearby. Still, they would be complete imbeciles to let their guards down.

"Is everything all right?" Zinnia broke the contemplative quiet. Of course she did. The girl was always impatient with silence. He fixed her with a look that he knew she could not see through his visor but whose meaning was still conveyed. She hunkered down a little in her high vestment collar. Quarrel was staring up at the blanket of stars, almost tipping over backward down the slope. Oh, how exasperating Novices could be! They got worse with each new generation. It was a wonder there were any Guardians left at all!

"Come," he said, and started back up the slope. He tried to ignore another wave of dizziness that washed over him. It was more a tingle, really. Like a reaction to a strong cup of coffee, or letting the Radiance bud toward the crown of the head in preparation for the Angel. Perhaps he was just tired, anticipating a sleepless night. Camping out never agreed with him.

They reached the top of the hill. He had selected the spot from visual as his jumpship had descended, a good point for tonight's training. He wouldn't want to sleep up here, but it would be all right for a few hours of lessons. Even with that thing of Darkness, that Seeder, pulsing across the land. It was pulsing, he realized. Faintly. Some kind of substrate thrum that wriggled underneath his skin. It was not a response from his Light. He felt no sympathetic surge rising to meet it — just more dizziness.

The hill flattened on top to a little grassy knoll. From here they could look out across the sea to the horizon, look up and down the coast in either direction from Skywatch to the terminus of the great mountain chain. It was too dark to see those mountains now, but he could feel them out there, giant, ancient, and wild. He resisted that inexplicable urge to look to his right toward the hidden Hive monstrosity. It was probably glowing with that vile not-Light. The disgusting creatures that crawled out of it would be staring into the night much like they were now. Could the Hive feel the presence of their Light?

He willed these thoughts away. They would not help. They were irrelevant to the task at hand. Ushabti would be able to pick up any Hive signatures headed their way in plenty of time to react. Even Quarrel's Ghost ought to be able to recognize Hive by now. Wasn't it said that she'd killed a Wizard? One would never be able to tell just by looking at her. She was still gazing up at the stars, awestruck. Not at all concerned by the night and what it might conceal. She had no idea how lucky she had been.

Shenu set the course for the night's lesson by adjusting the sling of his scout rifle and assuming the meditation posture. It was unpleasant without the zafu, with bulky armor impeding his crossed legs and the coldness of the frozen ground seeping through layers of fieldweave. Zinnia followed suit, shuffling around her satchels and weapons to accommodate her pose. Quarrel sat and haltingly tried to arrange her long limbs to mimic what she saw Zinnia doing. The little triangle they made pleased Shenu. Not just for the powerful geometry, but for the practicality: each one of them faced a different direction and would be able to catch sight of any unwelcome visitors. Ushabti appeared from Rest at his shoulder, assuming its own posture with slightly downcast eye. Perdita arrived at Zinnia's shoulder a moment later. Quarrel's unnamed Ghost winked into being at hers.

"The night aids the search for the Void," Shenu began. He would not bother to try and catch Quarrel up on what he had been teaching his Novice. She would either understand or she wouldn't. "The night allows a Guardian to remember that the Light has many expressions, all emanating from the same source, even if they do not appear to do so. After all, Luna's glow is very different from Sol. And yet, she shines from Sol's brilliance." Perhaps it was not the most fitting analogy on a night when Luna was New. He would not waste time fretting about it.

"Radiance and the Void are two expressions of the Light. It is a mistake to think that the Void is the absence of Light, just as it would be a mistake to think that moonlight is its own phenomena, independent of the sun." He raised a hand to the stars, drawing their gazes upward. Even the Ghosts watched. The great band of the Milky Way coiled from horizon to horizon. "The night aids the search for the Void because the night is a time for introspection. You may think of the Void as an internal art. There is no space the Light does not touch — even between these bright points of stars, though there be light-year upon light-year of distance. You are a brilliant thing of the Traveler, and inside of you are dimensions of space equal to the points between those stars. The Void draws from those spaces. To summon the Void is to listen intently. In Radiance, we shout with fire: _I am._ In the Void, we whisper: _Who am I?_ The question opens the Void and draws it into mutable possibility. The question is the Void."

He drew his gaze back down to Zinnia at his left knee.

"Breathe deep of the night. Look into yourself. Coax the Void into your hand."

Zinnia's shoulders dipped as she exhaled slowly. Her hands were upturned on her knees, fingers gently curled, assuming the waiting cup. Quarrel watched too, her own hands tense in the unfamiliar pose. Perhaps she was going to give it a try. He would be interested to know whether she could beat Zinnia to finding the Void. Maybe a little competition would spur that girl on.

Minutes passed. Shenu glanced at Zinnia's palms and held his tongue. He could not feel the barest surge of Light in her. What did he need to do to get her to understand? Was she so oblivious to herself that she could not hear the echoes within her? Was her Light truly so one-sided? He decided to alter tack.

"Look into the stars above. Let the vastness of the cosmos release you from your thoughts."

Zinnia's helm tilted toward the sky. Shenu looked up too. Pinpricks of pain stabbed his arm under his Bond. He flinched, taken aback. Fortunately, the other two did not notice, nor did their Ghosts. Ushabti's fins spun once. It had noticed, but had the sense to remain quiet. The pain came in waves with that eerie pulsating from afar before dying out. It had only lasted seconds, but those seconds had made his spine prickle. The pain and pulsing hadn't been together, had they? He took a long, calming breath through his nose. It was just coincidence. It had to be.

A small glow started on Zinnia's palms. His eyes snapped to it, his heart rising. A small tongue of flame licked the air above her hand. Sol's Light again. Zinnia felt the shift and looked. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. Quarrel continued to watch the sky, her Ghost as caught up as she was.

"Why can't I do it?" Zinnia asked, voice colored with frustration.

"That question is irrelevant!" Shenu snapped. She was prone to these bouts of self-doubt. The Cryptarchy was fine with letting her indulge in these childish moods, but he would not tolerate it. Doubt was a colossal waste of time. "You have defined an answer for yourself," he said, studying her carefully in the faint starlight. "You are convinced that Sol's Radiance is all you are. Why?"

"I…" Zinnia began, and stopped. She seemed surprised that he had asked her to speak. He felt a flash of irritation. It was not often he invited her to speak her mind, but she should snap to it when he did!

"It's just easy," she said quietly. "It's as natural as turning my face to the sunlight. It's not something I have decided for myself."

"Yes, it is!" he said. "You are convinced that the first Light that comes to you is the most natural, while all others are foreign and difficult. You are biased. What is it about the flame that draws you so?"

Zinnia shifted uncomfortably. Beside her, Quarrel was watching them both, her attention finally drawn from the sky.

"It…it feels so alive," Zinnia said, struggling to find the words. "I feel so alive in Radiance. When I stand near Boone and he says he can feel strength returning to him, it's the best feeling. When I throw the flame into our enemies, I know I am purifying." Her voice faltered, as though she were afraid he would find her foolish. Well, he did find her foolish. But not for those reasons.

"The flame cleanses. It nurtures. It supports. I…I like that," she finished quietly.

"Ah," Shenu sighed, thinking he might finally understand her block at last. "You do not wish to put out the fire. You do not wish to be a weapon."

Zinnia was at a loss for words.

"The Titans have called the Void with their Wards," Shenu said, cutting through her spineless indecision. "The Void comes to them as a defense, a shield that says this is mine. Yet they can also hurl the Void as destruction, closed in their fists or flung into the face of danger. The Void can protect, but it is also a weapon. You are also a weapon. Do not fight this. It is your nature. It is why you are. To deny it is to deny the Light itself, who made you. Would you deny your purpose?"

"No, Guardian," she said. He ought to reprimand her for such mousy replies. The Bond was stinging again, making it hard to concentrate on the lesson at hand.

"We will sit," he said, wrenching his thoughts away from the burn in his arm. "We will meditate."


	30. Fox and Bird

**May I come in?** Ushabti asked at the tent flap.

Guardian Zinnia fumbled with the zipper and her face appeared in the little opening.

"Of course!" She smiled at him, moving aside so he could get through. She zipped the flap closed behind him to shut out the breeze. His sensors told him that the night was considered very cold by her standards. Despite that, she sat on her bedroll by a little lantern with her vestments undone down to her waist, leaving her shivering in a sleeveless undershirt. She was holding a damp cloth, soaked from her canteen. She began scrubbing her arms with the cloth. The water raised goosebumps on her pale blue skin.

 **You are bathing?** he asked curiously.

"Uh huh," she replied, breath shivering as she did. "Just because we're camping out doesn't mean I have to smell like it!"

Ushabti clicked thoughtfully. He hadn't noticed any indication of foul odors coming from her. However, many Guardians could be fussy about their organic scents. Guardian Zinnia finished washing her arm and stripped off her undershirt. Ushabti turned away out of politeness. She was not a new Guardian who would be concerned about privacy with a Ghost, but then again, he was not Ghost Perdita. Perhaps she would feel differently around him. He'd been around long enough to understand what the organic civilizations of the City considered beautiful, and in his opinion, Guardian Zinnia met those standards.

In Ghost estimation, she was harmonious in form and deed. To acknowledge these facts, however, would be to embarrass her. Especially while bathing.

Ushabti listened for the jangling of buckles before deeming it prudent to turn back around. Guardian Zinnia was hastily doing up the front of her vestments, teeth chattering from the cold.

"I should have warmed up that water!" she grumbled, hanging the cloth over her helm to dry. She scrambled for the opening to her sleeping bag and wriggled into it until only her head and shoulders were showing. The small pillow must not have been to her liking, because she thumped it a couple of times and frowned before settling in.

"What's new, Ushabti?" she asked, smiling up at him. He suddenly felt embarrassed. Why had he come to see her? He had no good excuse except to cheer her up. Yet she looked happy enough, although if he knew her by now, she was probably just hiding her woe behind that smile.

 **Um…you're tired** , he said. **I shouldn't bother you.**

"You're not bothering me," she said. "I was going to stay up a little bit and read."

 **Oh? What are you reading?** He asked both because he wanted to stall his departure and because he was truthfully very interested in whatever she wished to do. Knowing what Guardian Zinnia liked was a little like knowing her.

"Homework!" she sighed. She turned and dug through her largest satchel. He hovered a little closer. She pulled out a massive hardbound book he recognized as belonging to the Tower Archives. A famous history tome, one of Cryptarch Master Rahool's favorites — especially for assigning to his Novices.

"At least it should put me right to sleep with boredom!"

 **You don't like history?** he asked.

Guardian Zinnia rolled onto her stomach and flipped open the book where a long gold ribbon marked the page.

"It's not that I don't like it," she said, running a finger over the page. "This book is just so dull! Master Rahool can always find a book to make the most exciting subjects boring!"

He sent a quick scan over the text.

 **That one is rather dry** , he agreed.

"You've read it before?" she asked with interest.

 **Um. I have now…**

"Can you give me the short version?" she grinned.

He clicked in amusement at her cheek.

 **It's not an easy text to summarize. I'm sorry.**

"That's okay," she said, idly turning pages.

Ushabti was desperate for something to say that wouldn't just disappoint her further.

 **That's…um…a new edition.**

Guardian Zinnia frowned at the book.

"New?" she asked, picking at the cracking leather cover with a dubious look.

 **Um, well…relatively. I mean, um…it's been annotated by Cryptarch Master Rahool since its first printing.**

"Its first printing?" Guardian Zinnia raised an eyebrow. "When was that? Before the Golden Age?"

He chirped, pleased by her humor.

 **Um…about one-hundred-twenty years ago. Actually, I think I remember Guardian Shenu reading it shortly after its publication.**

She put her chin on her hands and gazed at him. His fins twitched under her scrutiny. Had he said something wrong?

"I forget how old you are," she said. "How old all Ghosts are."

 **Oh. I forget too.**

In a way, he really did. The long years sometimes gave their weight. And then, at times, he thought he'd only just begun to see anything at all of the universe. Like now, watching Guardian Zinnia in the lantern light smiling back at him. Yet his memory cores did not let him forget or grow hazy like her mind would after so much time and so many experiences. So he could say without a doubt that he'd never seen or felt anything like this before. The thought made his fins twitch even more. It was a mistake for him to come here! He was going to make a fool of himself!

"It must be nice to be old," Guardian Zinnia said. "To know things and to have people look at you with respect, instead of as a stupid Novice." She was looking down at the page, but her eye movements said she was not reading. Her unbound hair slipped out from behind her ears and fell in curly waves over her shoulders.

 **I suppose** , he said, and cursed himself for it. What an arc-stung fool he was! What a wretched little conduit! Here she was starting to open up to him, and all he could say was _I suppose?_

 **Um…you did well tonight** , he tried again, and felt even worse when she glanced doubtfully at him. Idiotic mote that he was, he had blundered right into the very topic he was trying to delicately broach!

"You have a funny definition of well," she sighed.

 **I mean, um…your Light was calm. I could feel it. You were truly contemplating.**

"Maybe," she said. "But it wasn't good enough for Shenu." She groaned and pushed the book from her pillow, resting her chin on her arms. "Why can't I get it right? Why can't I summon the Void?"

He dared to come a little closer.

 **It's a block. It will take time to overcome.**

"Shenu is tired of waiting."

 **But still he must.** He fought off a fin twitch, suddenly afraid Guardian Shenu could hear him. He hadn't meant to be nasty. It was simply the truth. There was no shortcut to the place Guardian Zinnia was trying to get to. There had been no shortcut for his Guardian either.

"Have you ever seen a block before?" she asked.

 **Um…I once knew a Titan who could not summon a Ward bigger than a dinner plate, no matter how hard he tried.** Ushabti wondered if he should even be telling her these things. She couldn't possibly be interested in his ramblings. Besides, Guardian Shenu did not like him telling these stories anymore. Guardian Zinnia turned on her side so she could face him. His gaze lingered on the book, uncertain whether he should continue, but his sensors caught her interest in the anecdote before she spoke.

"Really? Maybe he was a Striker instead of a Defender."

 **Well…he was certainly a Defender. Um, his Havoc could hardly shake a bowl of water.**

She laughed.

"Are you sure he was even a Titan?"

 **One of the finest! His punches could crack jumpship hulls, and his mastery of all the other Defender arts was the envy of his Host. Um, those Wards were the only thing he couldn't quite get.**

"What did he do about it?"

 **Well, he practiced the other Arts to perfection…and, um, he got very good at making Wards for Ghosts.**

This made Guardian Zinnia laugh so hard she snorted, clapping her hands to her mouth.

"Surely he learned to overcome the block eventually?" she giggled.

 **Um, well…no. I'm afraid he never did.**

"Never?"she asked, her smile slipping.

Oh, he really shouldn't have said anything! The ending to this story wasn't a happy one.

 **That's not to say that he couldn't have learned!** he tried to reassure her **. Um, only that he…um…ran out of time.**

"Oh," she said quietly. Her stress levels elevated slightly, and he caught a shadow in her eyes that said she understood what he had left unsaid.

 **I'm sorry** , he said. **That was a bad example.**

"No," she sighed. "I know what you meant." She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes. Ushabti glanced around the tent, unhappy again. When would he stop babbling around Guardian Zinnia? Why couldn't he just say what he meant without making things worse?

"I hope I can get through this block before I run out of time," she said quietly.

He couldn't bear to hear her talk like that.

 **You have plenty of time! You will get past it!**

"I'm glad you think so."

Her eyes were still closed. According to his background scans and his long practice with humanoid behavior, she was beginning to fall asleep.

 **I do** , he said.

"I bet Quarrel could do it," Guardian Zinnia mumbled. "She's so good at everything."

 **Um…but she is not a Warlock** , Ushabti offered. He wasn't sure what to say. Guardian Quarrel _was_ showing remarkable aptitude. But this was a wholly different skill they were speaking of, something the newly Reborn had not yet even attempted. Yet Guardian Zinnia was troubled anyways. Why didn't he understand her better? She was sad again, and she needed cheering up. He decided to be bold.

 **You are a good Guardian.**

"You're so sweet!" she sighed.

Ushabti didn't know what to say to that either, so he kept silent.

"Ushabti?" she murmured. "What do you think of the Void?"

It was a strange question to ask of a Ghost, who could not wield the Light in the ways of Guardians. It was also surprising she would want to know what he thought.

 **What do you mean?**

"Shenu says I can't summon it because I really don't want to fight. But that's not true! I do want to fight!"

 **Of course you do. You're a Guardian!**

"Can I tell you something?" she whispered. He hovered a little closer, drawn in by her confidence, eager to be of help at last.

 **Of course!**

"You won't tell Shenu what I say?" Her eyes were open now, looking right at him. Their shining green was so very different from Guardian Shenu's dark eyes.

 **I won't!** he vowed, and meant it. Even as it made him shiver with guilt. That guilt could be ignored for now. He wouldn't be able to stand it if Guardian Zinnia could not confide in him!

"The Void feels wicked," she said softly. "I don't like it."

He clicked to himself, deeply affected by her worry. It was an innocent concern, a common one from Novices.

 **The Void is still Light** , he assured her. **It cannot be wicked, by its very nature.**

"But why does it feel so awful when I try to summon it?"

 **Um…it is just different. It is part of the natural cycle of ebb and flow.**

She didn't look convinced. Oh, why was he so bad at explaining these things? He didn't want to leave her feeling confused and lost! Suddenly, he had an idea.

 **Um, you saw the fox this afternoon?**

"Yes," she said. The lithe creature had rushed from a thicket with a bird hanging limp in its jaws, surprising them all.

 **Um, it was probably going to feed its young with that bird** , he continued. **It, um, killed that bird, which we would call a horrible act if we were the bird. But then, um, the kits will eat that bird and grow up strong. The horrible act is now a nurturing one. Um…do you see?**

"I'm not sure what you're getting at," she frowned. He twitched his fins, supremely embarrassed to be failing so completely at his task.

 **Um…um…what I mean is…it is a point of view. Um, either you are the bird or the fox. Either the bird's death is a senseless act of brutality, or a necessary act of growth. So it is with the Void. Um…it can be a terrible weapon, like the Nova, or a sanctuary like the Ward. Both manifest from the same source. The Void is the Light, which by its very nature cannot be wicked — though it can be used to do wicked things. Um…it's a paradox, I know. But, um…a fox feeding its young is not evil, though the killing necessary to make that feeding possible can be used for evil. Does…does that make sense?**

"Mm-hmm," she sighed, eyes closed once more.

 **So…um…you should not be afraid** , he said, deeply wishing he could make her understand that. He did not like to think of Guardian Zinnia afraid. **You are not a bad person for using the Void. It…it is okay to be afraid of it. The Light can be a fearful thing. But, um, it's all in how you use it. And…and you use it for good.** He felt curiously emboldened by the statement. **Your hesitation is proof of that goodness. Your goodness.**

He waited for her to laugh or reproach him for his forwardness. She said nothing. Her breathing was deeper, her neural energy now spread to a gossamer web of sleep. She probably hadn't even heard half of what he'd just said.

Oh, well. It was late, and she had been through much today, even before the long meditation. Her Light was not optimal. Ghost Perdita would need to Rest with her soon so they could bolster each other.

He sent a long-range scan outside the confines of the tent. Ghost Perdita still remained near Guardian Quarrel's Ghost. Guardian Shenu still sat with the newly Reborn by the campfire.

He watched Guardian Zinnia sleep. She was huddled up beneath her blankets, trying to ward off the cold. He could not revitalize her like Ghost Perdita, but he could offer her a little help to stay warm. He sent out a small pulse of Light. Just a little thing, only enough to raise her core temperature a degree. He watched her slowly relax, muscles unclenching from their tiny shivers.

Ushabti could remember a time when humans and Awoken had frightened him very badly. Long ago, when he had just been born, he had seen them as huge, lumbering, noisy creatures, unpredictable and temperamental. He had been especially shy of their large eyes and mobile faces, the way they pointed and grabbed at things with fleshy hands. He'd found their mouths and teeth to be particularly fearsome. A humanoid's mode of sustenance was a brutal, indelicate act consisting of ripping and chewing the flesh of other organisms or grinding up flora to digest. It didn't help his fear that they spoke with those same mouths, great gashes in their faces opening wide and barking sound that his processors initially struggled to translate into language. Even more confusing, they used them for affection too! Humans and Awoken both displayed a curious habit of pressing lips to the things and people they adored.

He had eventually grown used to their predilection for touch, had even come to solicit caresses from gentle fingers on his fins. But he'd never come around to kissing, though many other Ghosts cheerfully put up with it. He had been glad that Guardian Shenu did not feel the need to reinforce their bond that way.

It occurred to Ushabti now that he wouldn't mind if Guardian Zinnia kissed him.

He let himself out, slipping briefly into Light to pass through the walls of the tent. Guardian Shenu warmed himself at the fire, speaking low and earnest to the newly Reborn. Guardian Quarrel listened politely, though all her biometrics told Ushabti that she longed for sleep. Ushabti glanced at the two Ghosts nearby. They were not paying any attention to the conversation. Instead they stared off into the night sky, still arguing about Golden Age technology.

He could join them…but they would not like it. Instead he took up a place by Guardian Shenu's shoulder, the firelight warm on his fins. It did not warm him nearly as much as Guardian Zinnia's smile had.

"Very good," Guardian Shenu said to Guardian Quarrel. She was channeling a tiny flame on her palm. It lasted only a few moments. "You have a strong connection to your Light."

"It makes me want to break into the Golden Gun!" Guardian Quarrel said, smiling at her hand.

"Your strength needs firm discipline. The Warlocks can provide that. Tell me, what do you hope to achieve in your Rebirth?"

Guardian Quarrel looked intimidated by the question. She frowned and looked off beyond the fire.

"I want to push back the Darkness," she said. "I want our enemies who prowl the edges of the City to know that we will not be hunted down."

"Noble aspirations," Guardian Shenu said. "Goals we all share. Do you wish nothing for yourself?"

Guardian Quarrel considered a moment.

"I want the Fallen to know I will not run anymore. I want the Hive to fear my Light — and burn in it."

"And supposing you accomplish these things. What then? What would you wish when your fight is through?"

Guardian Quarrel's telemetry spiked, a small sliver of stress that Ushabti had learned to read as worry and doubt.

"I would know who I was before all of this."

"Why?" Guardian Shenu was looking hard at her, as though she were also his Novice.

"Something is missing. Why shouldn't I look for it? I want to know. Why should I deny this hidden part of myself just because it isn't needed for the City's protection?" Guardian Quarrel's telemetry quivered anger now. Ushabti waited for Guardian Shenu to rebuke her for her forward glare, but a rebuke did not come. Instead he watched her silently, his expression thoughtful.

"Our mission tomorrow has greater importance than any training," he said quietly. "Tomorrow we look for a Warmind, one of the greatest weapons we could procure against the Darkness . A weapon the Darkness could turn against us. The Vanguard do not wish for us to be here. Our work is covert and unsanctioned…and most certainly not mere training. If we go through with this, you will either die or return triumphant, with a great gift to set before the Vangaurd."

"Why would the Vanguard not want us here?" Guardian Quarrel asked. "Why wouldn't they want to secure this weapon?"

"Why indeed?"

Guardian Quarrel grew even more troubled.

"Do not speak of this to Zinnia," Guardian Shenu commanded. "It would frighten her to know she is going against the Vanguard's wishes, as would the true, perilous nature of our mission. She is…excitable. Unable to keep a calm head in the face of great opposition. I need someone else I can rely on under pressure. I do hope that can be you."

Guardian Quarrel nodded.

"You can count on me."

As Ushabti listened, he grew heavy with sorrow. He'd known that Guardian Shenu wished for Zinnia to remain ignorant of their true purpose in the Cosmodrome. It was a hard secret for him to keep from her. Now Guardian Shenu saw fit to confide in Guardian Quarrel, who wasn't even his Novice. All because he thought Guardian Zinnia was not capable.

A thought crossed his circuits. Should he tell Guardian Zinnia what he had just heard? He must have twitched his fins too much, because Guardian Quarrel looked at him and then so did Guardian Shenu. He could not leave now without them questioning his purpose. Guardian Shenu looked at him so closely, he had the irrational fear his Guardian could understand what subversive thought he'd just entertained. Ushabti quivered.

"What's the matter with you?" Guardian Shenu asked.

 **I…I wish to go to Rest** , he said.

"Then do so!"

Guardian Shenu's Light did not warm him either.


	31. Warmind

**Guardian? It's time to wake up!**

Ghost's voice roused Quarrel from unexpectedly deep sleep. For a moment, she was confused. Where was she? She was cold, and distinctly uncomfortable in her armor, lying on the hard ground. Slowly her surroundings began to take shape as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. Tent walls rippled above her in a light breeze. Her survival pack lay next to her head. She was in the steppes. The Cosmodrome. Their mission.

"What time is it?" she murmured, struggling upright. Her sleeping bag was cinched up to her neck, making for an awkward escape compounded by her ribs fiercely protesting the chestplate she had slept in.

 **Nearly oh-five-hundred** , Ghost announced.

Beside her, Zinnia began to stir in her sleeping bag. She groaned and rolled over as Perdita appeared above her and began to chide her awake

 **Quickly** , Ghost chirped. **Eat your breakfast and grab your gear. Shenu wants to leave soon.**

She nodded, yawning until her eyes watered. It felt like she had just gone to sleep! Shenu had kept her talking until the campfire burned low. She rummaged around in her pack and pulled out the leathery jerky she had saved for cold morning rations. Perdita clicked and buzzed at Zinnia, who still refused to poke her head out of the blankets. Ghost watched the scene with twitchy fins. He seemed excited, ready to get a move on. It must be nice to not have to sleep, she reflected. The two Ghosts had spent nearly as much time arguing as she had talking with the Warlock Mentor. They didn't seem any the worse for wear this morning. Apparently, Rest wasn't constrained by the needs of good old-fashioned sleep.

 **If Shenu has to come in here and get you up, you'll be sorry!** Perdita scolded. Quarrel grinned, chewing on the tough jerky. She thought her own armor might be softer to eat. At least it tasted better than the field rations. She was too nervous to pay the food too much notice. Should she really keep the Warmind a secret from Zinnia?

Zinnia finally sat up. Her curly hair was disheveled and her high vestment collar crooked. She scowled at Perdita, glowing green eyes blinking sleepily. Quarrel handed her a stick of jerky.

"Good morning," Zinnia grunted. "Or should I say good night? It isn't even light out!"

"Good morning to you too."

"Did you even get to sleep?" Zinnia asked around a mouthful of jerky, her face scrunched up as she struggled to chew it. "I'm sorry about Shenu. He can really go on and on!"

"It's okay," Quarrel said. "I did learn a new trick." She held out her bare hand, palm pointed toward the tent ceiling. She stared at it, concentrating. Reflect on Sol, the sunlight on your palm…

Zinnia watched curiously. A few moments later, a tiny tongue of flame appeared over her skin. It lasted barely long enough to even be sure it had happened.

"Hey!" Zinnia cried. "You channeled the flame! You'll be a Warlock in no time!"

 **Getting ahead of ourselves, aren't we?** Perdita clicked.

 **It's a good start!** Ghost chirped proudly.

"Maybe I will," she shrugged. All the things Shenu had told her, about the Light, about Guardians…it was all fascinating. The implication was she'd learn so much more if she joined the Warlocks. That the little tongue of flame in her palm could grow to an inferno. And what about the Golden Gun? What about Shin Malphur's gift, placed in her hands when she'd needed it most? Shenu hadn't been terribly impressed by it beyond noting that she had an affinity for Sol, like Zinnia. Properly trained, the Radiance would come upon her instead of the Golden Gun. That sounded tempting. But a part of her thought she might miss Shin's Light.

 **Get your armor together!** Perdita sighed at Zinnia. **Have you got your gauntlets handy? It's almost time to leave!**

Zinnia waved her Ghost away, cramming the last of the jerky into her mouth and rummaging through her satchels.

 **We'd better get ready too** , Ghost said.

They made quick searches for their errant gear, hurriedly pulling on boots and gauntlets, tying back hair, adjusting clothing and armor. They pulled their guns from quick-release cases and strapped them to holsters and harnesses. They clipped their reserve canteens to their belts, gathered up their helms, and stumbled out of the tent after their anxious Ghosts into the cold morning. Shenu stood beyond the dead fire, gazing off to the east and the pale grey horizon. He was fully battle arrayed, gliding through a slow series of stylized stretches, hardly encumbered by his armor. Quarrel and Zinnia waited quietly. Quarrel kept glancing at the Warlock, still wondering if she should say something about their true mission. Maybe Zinnia would do better if she was just prepared…

Shenu straightened up and brought his palms together in front of his chest.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes, Guardian," they answered.

"Good. Our training today takes us into the Cosmodrome itself. We will survey the area and keep ourselves hidden. Do as I say and you will have nothing to fear ."

Quarrel saw Zinnia's questioning look before they fastened their helms. The Ghosts went to Rest.

They fell into step behind Shenu, beginning the climb out of camp. The land was hushed around them, the quiet only broken by the rustling of dried grass and the distant rumble of waves. They picked their own path down the sea cliffs, following the contour of the land to the beach. The air in her oxygen filters took on a humid tang. They slid down rocky slopes and jumped from boulder to boulder when the way became blocked.

The beach was a narrow strip of land in changing tide. The water gurgled and churned, visible only as a faint gleam in the dawn. Ushabti summoned Shenu's Sparrow. Perdita and Ghost followed suit. The engines broke the morning stillness with unapologetic roars. Shenu set a fast clip down the shoreline. The sand floated in snakelike undulations under their passing. The water parted too when they needed to skirt their vehicles wide into the surf to find passage. Waves surged at Quarrel's knees, washing over her Sparrow and threatening to gutter the engines. She maneuvered through the surf, shocked awake by the cold water seeping through her armor, challenged to keep the engines burning. Her Sparrow surged ahead of the Warlocks more than once and she had to slow down, letting Shenu take point again. She wished they could go even faster.

The sun crested the mountains, touching the land with brilliant light. They sped on. Half an hour later, as they swept over a much wider shore, Shenu suddenly choked his engine, holding a fist up in warning. Quarrel braked and skid her Sparrow to a stop, Zinnia rumbling up just beside her. Shenu was looking up toward the cliffs that loomed on their left. Here, the rock walls were much more sheer than where they had made camp. Sea birds wheeled from their perches, calling to each other. Shenu raised his hand again and made a quick, cutting motion. _Stop engines._

"Above us lies a Hive Seeder," he said, his voice soft and calm. "We move even quicker now. Do not fall behind. If that happens, my only promise is that your death will be torturous and prolonged."

Quarrel's skin prickled, remembering sickly eyes and growls in the darkness. Hooks tearing her Light. Crumbling cloth moving in a foul wind. Zinnia nodded solemnly.

They urged their Sparrows to even greater speed, opening up at last, striving to put as much distance between themselves and the Seeder as fast as possible. At one point, they passed an enormous round bay cut into the rock, a salt-sprayed vault door facing out to sea inside its shadow. They passed by in the blink of an eye and into a deep, shadowy ravine only wide enough for them to ride in single file. The ravine twisted away from the coast and opened into a drained inlet littered with the rusting corpses of ancient ships. Crumbling rigs towered overhead, behemoths of pocked metal and concrete. They barreled under the pillars of one such edifice and out onto muddy flats. There, Shenu called another stop.

"There is an unknown short-range signal in the area. It is coming from Fallen technology. We will investigate."

 **I'm catching it too** , Ghost said, for her ears alone.

Shenu twisted in his saddle to look at a shattered ship hull grounded in the frozen soil.

"Stow your Sparrows. We walk from here."

* * *

The Skywatch waited above. Shenu throttled his Sparrow up the ancient road leading to its base, skirting steep dropoffs where chunks of paving had fallen off centuries ago into the shallow sea. Some day, the whole installation would crumble and fall into the starved bay. For now, it remained brooding over the Forgotten Shore, cracked satellite dishes and spindly, silenced antennae pointed expectantly to the sky. The place filled Shenu with contempt. In all his years, not once had the Vanguard been able to reclaim the Cosmodrome. They saw no use for it beyond being a salvage yard for ship parts and a Fallen combat training ground. Even bands of Warlocks had agreed that any useful Golden Age technology had long since been retrieved by the Tower or stolen by the Fallen.

The Tower had no imagination. The Tower was busy playing City games and coddling petitioners rather than studying and fighting. This is what happened when a Titan became Commander. And that high-and-mighty Ikora Rey was no help at all. She'd had such promise once — only to drop off the face of the planet, doing her "own work". Then returning to take position as a Vanguard leader and happily ceding all Warlock dignity and sense to Zavala!

In the lead, Shenu signaled for the Novices to slow. An opening gaped in the side of the Skywatch complex, the entrance to an ancient structure where workers and visitors would once have parked their vehicles. The concrete floors had collapsed, great slabs crushing the ridiculous automobiles left behind. The two Novices roared up behind him and came to a stop. Quarrel had ceased trying to run up ahead of him ever since they had passed the Hive Seeder. Perhaps he had impressed the severity of the situation upon her. She and Zinnia had faced the Hive in a small breeding chamber, and it had scared them well enough. They would never have survived the horror of a Seeder.

He led them under the ruin of an archway that would have directed traffic to various levels of the garage. There, they shut down their Sparrows and dismounted. The Ghosts whisked the craft away. It was time to walk again.

"Structural report," he said to Ushabti.

 **There is a suitable passageway directly ahead. Building stability is well within acceptable parameters, so long as we don't disturb the rubble.**

"Life signs?"

 **Detecting Fallen signatures within. There is some interference with my scans…estimation puts their numbers at no less than twenty individuals spread between three floors.**

"Twenty?" he grunted. That was more than he wanted to deal with when he had two Novices in tow. Shenu glanced at the other two and scowled behind the cover of his helm. They could not turn back now. Likely their poking around the Fallen transmitters had already alerted the Devils to a Guardian presence. If they regrouped and came back, even with a larger team, the Devils would certainly have called reinforcements in the meantime or simply redoubled their efforts, stealing precisely what it was they were looking for…

He had to find it first. That voice coming over the short-range transmitters…if it meant what he suspected…well, Ikora and Zavala both would be chewing on their armor in a fit of humiliation and rage!

"Guardian?" Zinnia spoke up tentatively. He blinked. She had taken a step forward, her opaque visor tilted curiously up at him. He had not seen her move. Damn it all, if that trance came upon him now…!

"We move quickly and quietly," he said, brushing off her concern. "We stay close together. Expect combat at any time, but do not engage unless I give the order! We wish to remain undercover." He looked hard at the Quarrel, lest she forget her order to silence. So far she had played along beautifully and was looking to be a good choice to place his trust in. Out on the rusting ship and crumbling rig where they had located the two signal transmitters, she had dispatched the sentries with ease and kept Zinnia's headstrong enthusiasm in check. The real tests still lay ahead.

"Yes, Guardian." the two echoed each other.

"It will be easy to become surrounded once we are inside," he said. "In that event, we group to the best cover and fight our way to retreat. I expect no theatrics or heroics, understood?"

"Yes, Guardian."

"Good. Zinnia, to my right. Quarrel, to my left. Move out."

They fell in obediently. Shenu forced himself to clear his mind and project calm and control. This was exactly what he had been hoping for — and exactly what he had dreaded. The signal had to be Rasputin. The Warmind! Resurfacing now, after all this time. The Fallen had roused him, he was sure of it now. Just like he'd told the Vanguard would happen. He'd made the right choice to come. He only wished he had an experienced fireteam and not two foolish Novices in tow, one of whom still thought this was training. The Light help him, it was going to teach them _something!_

Once he crossed the garage's threshold and stepped into the cold shadows, his helm began to relay Ushabti's sensor data on the inside of the visor. He switched his nanoprobe focus to sound. Through the thunder of their footsteps, he could hear heartbeats. His own, strong and steady, and the Novices' pounding rapid and shallow. They were frightened. He could not fault them for that.

He should have brought in Damask, or Oriole, or any number of experienced Warlocks…

They never would have come. He had to take what he could get.

 **There is a large concentration of Fallen one floor above, and two signatures straight ahead.** As the lead Ghost for the fireteam, Ushabti spoke to all of their helms now.

They kept their triangular formation as they picked softly through the rubble in the darkened garage. The Fallen had rebooted the electrical grid, so their progress was not in complete darkness. Stark, industrial lighting pierced the gloom now and again and played tricks with their shadows. Their passage was forced aside by a solid wall of collapsed metal and concrete. Tucked behind a support pillar, the two Novices waited while Shenu slipped forward. The nanoprobes began to pick up more heartbeats, curious, syncopated rhythms. Two hearts. Fallen. From their speed and sometimes erratic pulse, probably Dregs. A Captain's or a Baron's heart had a louder, stronger thump to it, the result of their greatly increased bulk and healthy Ether-fed systems. These Dregs would be hungry for that Ether, overworked, and spooked by the Hive.

He peered cautiously down the corridor. Two Dregs squatted on their heels, claws scratching into the concrete to keep their balance. One had its back to him, the seals of its docking caps glinting in a rod lantern's orange glow. The other inspected a shock dagger, elbows propped on its powerful thighs, and picked at its talons much like a bored Hunter.

The red laser-sight dot on its forehead caught the attention of its companion. It grumbled something in their harsh tongue — he was admittedly out of practice at translating more than a few words of the Fallen's sniveling excuse for a language — and then jumped back with a snarl when the nail-picker's head exploded in a spray of blackish blood and ether.

"Forward!" Shenu barked into the comms. The gore-spattered Dreg swung around to face him and hissed, raising a shock pistol. Shenu's helm sensors chimed when the charges struck his chest. His fieldweave absorbed the electricity and heat, discharging the current through the heels of his boots, leaving sparks on the concrete. The only lingering effect was a feeling of being punched in the chest. The Dreg continued to fire, angered and amazed by Shenu's lack of concern. It died after two shots to the gut. The Fallen's best armor was not wasted on their Dregs.

To Shenu's left, loud shots rang out. Quarrel was aiming down her hand cannon's sights. The barrel smoked. A sword clattered to the ground. The Vandal she had just shot had dropped one of its weapons. It brandished another sword and leaped aside, rolling across the floor, letting the wave of Dregs behind it surge forward.

"Incoming!" Zinnia cried, as though they could not already see the threat. She was aiming down her sights too, swinging her weapon back and forth from one target to another, uncertain where to fire first.

"To me!" he shouted, and began to fire his scout into the Dregs. Zinnia immediately fell back to his right flank. A couple Dregs fell right away to his scout. Another followed from a bullet through its jaw from Quarrel. A third skittered backwards, shrieking, its wrapped foot burned by a glancing bullet from Zinnia. Its comrades did not slow to help. They boiled over their dead and rushed, teeth flashing and throats screaming. A Dreg with nothing to lose was a formidable target. Groups of them could easily pull down full fireteams. And that Vandal…he needed to keep an eye on it! Where had it gone to? He could not search properly in the rush, and his helm's sensor information could barely keep up in distinguishing the different signatures around him.

A flare of Light erupted on the ground a meter before them. Zinnia was flinging her Sol charges. It was more Light than he wished for her to use at the moment, but for now he couldn't complain. The blinding flashes were overwhelming to the Fallen's unprotected eyes. Those who were caught in a grenade were set afire faster than if they had been made of oiled twigs. Their blind panic sent them careening into the others, who scattered and caught alight themselves, giving Shenu enough time to put them down with a heavy bullet to the skull or the throat.

"Stealth!" Quarrel cried out a warning. Shenu whirled around. She was grappling with the air. The nanoprobes in his helm crackled with peculiar interference, sending a tingling wave over his scalp. Camouflage! At the thought, the Vandal appeared, throwing the invisibility off like a blanket. Quarrel was trying desperately to keep its raised sword from cleaving her helm in two. The Vandal's upper arms were pushing down with inexorable force. Its lower arms made a grab for her neck.

The Vandal jerked and screamed as Shenu fired two bullets into its stomach, went abruptly still when the third shattered its facemask. Quarrel fell back, her armor stained with its blood and ether.

"Behind you!" Zinnia cried.

Another shimmer in the air. Two more Vandals tore into visibility, slamming into the Guardians. Zinnia's cry turned pained when a shock blade scratched across her chest, knocking her to the floor. A clawed foot pressed down on her throat. Quarrel rolled across the ground from the force of the other's attack. It was already getting to its feet, held up on its lower arms, a wire rifle raised high over its back in the upper pair.

Zinnia slammed her palm upwards. Her attacker's head snapped back from the brute force of her Solar wave. She raised her hand cannon to its thigh and pulled the trigger. Muscle and bone shredded under the blunt impact. The Vandal fell. At the same time, Shenu fired at the Vandal menacing Quarrel. It dodged aside, disappearing except for a splatter of blood where one bullet hit home in its ribs, and crashed into visibility again against a pile of salvage. It howled defiance, the wire rifle spooling up in his direction. Shenu silenced the creature in four shots. The wire charge flew wide off target, shredding into the wall.

"Get up!" he snarled at the Novices. They hurried to their feet. Zinnia's vestments were not stained with her own blood, at least. The weave must have held against the dagger.

For a few moments, the only sound was their quickened breathing. Zinnia nudged the Vandal's corpse with her boot, then stepped on the humming wire rifle, crushing the delicate transformer. That particular trick was a well-known tactic from Banshee. She had been taking his lessons to heart. Shenu felt a flash of anger, irrational now when all they needed to be concerned with was survival. She listened to that rambling old Exo, but not to _him?_

"What now?" Zinnia panted.

"We keep moving!"

Water pooled along the walls, dripping down mossy growths on the concrete. Blood and ether swirled in the cold puddles, disturbed by their passage. Ahead, a large overheard door opened to a metal stairwell. Evidence of the Fallen was everywhere — their illumination rods stuck into the ground, their generators and multi-purpose turnip units humming in corridors. They had intended to stick around in this building. The Devils were too efficient to waste time hauling complex machinery about if they didn't see something worth hauling it out for.

Shenu strode past a dead Dreg, then stopped in his tracks. The Devils…

He bent down to the Fallen and snagged the shock of hair on top of its head. The coarse hair was dyed a brilliant royal blue. He let the Dreg's head fall to the concrete with a dull thud and seized the collar of its filthy armor. Blue and gold paint swatches marked the House colors. Not the red of the Devils.

"Ushabti! What House do these colors represent?"

 **Records show these are the colors of the House of Kings.**

The Kings! He'd known something was different about these animals. That straight-backed ferocity and coordinated assault had been too clever for the Devils' usual shock-to-overwhelm tactics. So the Kings were poking around the Cosmodrome…were the Houses working together now?

"House Kings?" Zinnia murmured curiously. She reached down to the dead Vandal and pulled its sodden cloak out from under its limp arms. The rich yellow cloth bore a stark white symbol, markedly different from the symbol on the red cloaks of the Devils. That symbol was all teeth and fangs, sharp edges and severe strokes. This one was marked with a circle and two identical, gracefully curving lines.

"Beware," Shenu said. "Expect more of those Vandal assassins."

 **Nine more life signs above** , Ushabti alerted them as they climbed the stairwell. **Several are faint. I think it might be the stealth technology masking their vitals.**

"Watch for the shimmer!" Quarrel warned Zinnia. He shouldn't allow them to speak at all, but at least this one didn't waste time on needless chatter and questions. At least her hands were steady.

Shenu took the lead, sweeping up the stairs, scout held at the ready. The Fallen above them had likely heard the sounds of battle. It would be best to catch them in a direct assault rather than cower, waiting for them to make a good counterattack. Let the beasts think a whole retinue of Guardians had come for them. Most of them didn't even know how much they should fear just three.

The stairs opened into a dusty, cramped room filled with inactive consoles. Beyond it, a much larger space, all shadows and columns. Some kind of ancient command center, doubling as Fallen storage while the scavengers sorted out their loot. Too many hiding places. He went to the left, to a large open doorway. Quarrel went to the right to peer through a smaller entrance. Zinnia crept to a cutout window behind a console spewing severed wires.

There were no eyes peering out of the semi-darkness. Not so much as a growl. Had the Fallen fled? No, Ushabti would have said as much. At least, he hoped so. He could never be too sure about Ushabti these days.

Zinnia snapped her hand cannon to seemingly thin air just on the other side of the window. Her shot exploded the silence. Quarrel swiveled toward the noise. A Vandal materialized, rushing along the floor like a spider, one upper arm held close to its body where Zinnia had crippled it. It jumped for the window. Another gunshot. The Vandal hit the window frame and fell. Quarrel's aim had been true. Another cloaked Vandal dropped from the ceiling in front of Shenu.

"Above!" he shouted. The Vandal launched itself into him. He stumbled backward into the anteroom with Zinnia, hitting the floor hard enough to lose his breath. Proximity sensors wailed in his helm. A shock blade slashed at his throat. He raised his arm and let the charged steel glance off his tough gauntlets, the bulk of the shock absorbed through the heatsinks.

 _Dead thing!_ The Vandal shrieked at him in guttural Fallen. _Violation!_

Shenu shoved his palm into the Vandal's blunt face. The Void opened within him. The creature's angry shrieks turned to howls of pain that abruptly cut off when the Void seared through its facemask and suffocated the Vandal with terrible coldness. Shenu threw the corpse off of him and scrambled to his feet. The two Novices were firing from the doorway into the larger room. The air was sparkling with shimmering camouflage. Two more — no, three! — assassins scrambling right and left to get into the smaller room with them. One fell from the combined efforts of the two Novices, gasping its last right in the threshold. Another dashed forward and hurled a shock dagger through the window. It whistled toward Zinnia. She dodged in enough time to keep it from smashing into her torso, but could not escape its edge slicing into her arm. Her fieldweave was not as strong as his. She stumbled and gripped the wound. The Vandal flung itself through the window, seeing its chance. Again, Shenu stretched out his hand. The Void burnt a gaping hole through its back.

Quarrel fired her hand cannon dry as the third Vandal reached her. When it looked as though she might just get skewered on its blade, she kicked a foot out squarely into its stomach, unsheathed a shock dagger from her belt, and found a home for it in the Vandal's stomach.

 **The Fallen have tapped into something in here!** Ushabti cried.

"Advance!" Shenu ordered. "Cover all exits!"

They ran out into the shadows, Zinnia trailing her friend.

A dais, just above head height, ringed the larger room in a horseshoe. Dregs scrambled onto that ledge, ready to avenge their dead. Two fell in quick succession to Shenu's scout. Two more from Quarrel's quick shots. Nine Fallen down in total.

A door stood open in the far wall on the dais, another at ground level to their right. Shenu directed the Novices to cover the lower entrance while he climbed the stairs to the upper level.

Just as Ushabti had said, a Fallen Breaker was hooked up to a filthy bank of monitors and processors on the far wall. The Fallen liked to bring out the crude-looking, squat Breakers whenever they found an operating system or a piece of technology they wished to override and control. The Golden Age monitors were non-functioning, though the processors hummed and clicked with activity. Shenu felt grim satisfaction. Light, maybe this trip wouldn't be in vain after all! If only they could have some peace and quiet to investigate!

Something else was nagging at him. They'd seen Dregs and Vandals so far. Where were the Captains? Surely an expedition of this many Fallen would require the presence of a Captain.

"Search it, Ushabti!" he commanded. His Ghost appeared promptly, beginning to scan the consoles. "Watch the doorways!" he called to the Novices. "Don't let anything get through!"

Ushabti whirred and clicked, chirping to itself as it worked. Couldn't the Ghost go any faster? It would be too easy to get pinned inside this room, blocked off from all escape. If only those monitors were working! Then he could investigate as well!

 **Something is fighting back** , Ushabti buzzed, frustrated. **Fighting against the Breaker…and me!**

"Get around it. We need to know what they've found."

 **I'm afraid it's going to take some time.**

"Then stop chattering and get to work!" Shenu growled. "If you haven't noticed, we're in a less than ideal situation!"

 **Yes, Guardian. Um…perhaps if I had the assistance of the other Ghosts?**

"Fine!" Shenu snapped. "Call them!"

Ushabti trilled and clicked, sending a call in the Ghost language. Shenu walked the length of the back dais, scanning the walls and ceiling. It wouldn't do to have more of those filth falling on them like spiders pouncing on a fly. Two little points of light whirred by. Perdita and Ghost were joining Ushabti at the console. The three Ghosts began to chatter excitedly, clustering around the Breaker, fins twitching and waving. So help him, if they were arguing again…! He took a calming breath and watched the Novices. Quarrel was inspecting her hand cannon after a fresh reload. Zinnia glanced between Shenu and the stairway they had come from.

He would not pace. He would remain calm and in control.

Quarrel suddenly shifted her attention away from her hand cannon. She left Zinnia's side, creeping forward a few paces to the anteroom. He was just about to order her back when she turned back.

"We've got company!" she cried.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, he saw movement from the stairwell. Dregs bounded into the anteroom. Damn these labyrinthine buildings! They'd come in from behind!

Something else stepped out from the stairwell and into the little room. A Captain stood at full height, glaring through the cut-out window directly at Shenu. A gold cloak hung from its shoulders, its armor slashed with royal blue. Shenu's anger turned to cold resolve.

"To me!" he shouted to the Novices. "Protect the Ghosts!"

They scrambled up the dais to flank him. The Dregs swarmed into the room, fanning out, hissing and chattering. The Captain strode behind them. It raised its sword and bellowed a challenge, the Dregs joining in with a chorus of higher shrieks. The Captain pointed the sword at the Guardians and spat a few contemptuous words — something about docking them all and adorning their latrines with the limbs. Typical Fallen boasts of humiliation.

He'd show them the meaning of humiliation.

The Fallen reinforcements came in waves. Shenu fired into the snarling masses of Dregs, goaded forward by the anger of their Captain, cutting down most of them before they even made it halfway across the room. Zinnia discharged solar Light on either side of the dais, making howling sunspots that flared up and denied access to their flank. Any who made it through the flames had Quarrel's quick shots to deal with. Shenu prayed the Ghosts were still working behind him. Should he call the whole thing off? Have the Ghosts retreat to Rest and work on an escape? Where could they go that wouldn't already be overrun with Fallen?

No. They had to fight. He would not be turned away by a few filthy scavengers!

It was the stealth Vandals who disrupted their defense. The telltale ripple was too hard to notice in all the commotion. The butchers crawled up the walls and scrambled forward, dropping onto the dais and shrieking for blood. Quarrel emptied her cannon again and went to grappling with a wounded Vandal in some suicidal impulse. She was unusually tall, but the typical Vandal stood a good head taller still. Zinnia backed into the wall. Three Dregs leaped onto the dais to swamp her. Shenu unhooked the fusion rifle from his back. His Void palm burned a hole through the nearest Dreg's chest while he squeezed the rifle trigger. The weapon growled, shaking with the force of its charge, then erupted a plasma stream bright enough to throw shadows on the walls. The second Dreg simply melted away, a gurgling cry ringing in the air after its body dissolved. The third Dreg, having been behind its unfortunate partner, hit the dais floor with a squeal. An entire side of its body was missing from the blast.

They were getting too close! If the Ghosts were caught in the crossfire, this would all be for nothing. He would not meet his end here! Not in this pathetic, rusting reminder of what humanity could have been. Not with two frightened Novices. He would not!

"Keep them away from the Ghosts!" he shouted again.

Quarrel's heavy slug took a Vandal through the forehead, then another. Zinnia knelt between her and Shenu, finally coming to her senses and shooting at any Fallen who tried to cross into the larger room.

A moment to breathe. A moment only.

A grating crash to their left. Shanks poured in. The Fallen had found another way! The clicking drones sent out a hail of shock charges. Across the room, the Captain blinked from one pillar to another. Every time it materialized, it stared straight at Shenu. It knew he was in command.

They had to go. If the Novices didn't fall first, they were going to run out of ammunition.

"Ushabti!" he cried. "Status!"

 **We think we've got the firewall figured out!**

"You _think?_ "

 **The operating system behind this is incredible! It's trying to scramble the Breaker even as we attempt to unlock it! I believe we're dealing with an intelligence. The way its adapting to our inquiries is simply too complex —**

"Focus, Ushabti!" Shenu snarled. "Can you break it or not? We need to go!"

 **I've got it!** Quarrel's Ghost cried, triumphant. **I'm through! I'm through!**

 **One more minute!** Ushabti trilled. **We just have to keep the firewall at bay a little longer in order to disconnect the Breaker!**

"For the love of the Light, make it quick!"

The Captain disappeared. Reappeared. It would not advance until all its underlings were dispatched. Until the Guardians were worn down with exhaustion.

 **I don't believe it!** Perdita buzzed. **The Warmind! He's here! They were trying to infiltrate Rasputin! They very nearly succeeded — oh! Servitors inbound!**

Two Servitors hummed into the room from where the Shanks had appeared, crackling with energy, their giant orbs bloated distortions of the tiny Ghosts. Shenu's nanoprobes surged and prickled, disrupted by their questing pulses. They were feeding information to the Fallen, scouting, assessing, communicating between themselves in low, rumbling chatter.

Quarrel fired straight into one Servitor's wide eye. It buzzed angrily, sparking and blinking through its shattered lens. Zinnia wrenched her friend aside as its retaliatory blast shot out. The energy discharge whined overhead and exploded against the wall behind them, shaking the room.

Five Dregs ran from the lower stairwell into the room. A second Captain strode out from behind the Servitors. The small army faced the three Guardians.

"Ushabti!" Shenu cried.

 **Almost!**

Zinnia looked to Shenu. Quarrel climbed to her feet.

"Guardian, what do we do?" Zinnia cried.

Light! He had been _so close!_

"We retreat!" Shenu said. "Get to the upper passage behind us. Cut through to the outside until we're in transmat range to our ships!"

"I've got this!" Quarrel said at the same time. He looked at her in disbelief, but she was already running straight into the Fallen. She dove behind a pillar and re-emerged engulfed in flame, awash with the Golden Gun. The Dregs before her were consumed by Sol's rage, powerful blasts of Light blowing them apart. The Captain survived by climbing up the wall at the first shot. It dropped to the ground, just as her Light ebbed.

They began a deadly chase across the floor, the Captain's deadly arc blades sizzling while Quarrel jumped and harried from all directions. She moved just like a Hunter, Shenu realized. And she had the complete lack of sense of one too!

"Fall back!" Shenu shouted, but it was useless. The Captain had blocked off her escape. The other Captain was closing in, hungry for the kill.

Another discharge from one of the Servitors nearly caught Shenu. He'd taken his eyes off of them for too long. The pulse detonated perilously close to the Ghosts. The Servitors understood what they were trying to do.

"Ushabti!"

 **Nearly there!**

"She's crazy!" Zinnia cried, watching Quarrel. "I've got to help her!"

"Stay here!" Shenu snarled. "I'll go!"

He bounded off the platform, raising his fusion rifle at the nearest Captain. The plasma burst exploded its arc generators, causing its shield to flicker. Shenu fired again. Quarrel rolled to its side, firing up from below. The shield broke completely. Another fusion shot seared one sword arm off just as the Captain swung so close to Shenu he could feel the static from the blade's passing. The Captain staggered, Ether spewing from severed tubes, its face black with ichor. Shenu punched the Void through its chest and the beast fell. Quarrel actually cheered. Blasts from the agitated Servitors forced them to move.

Zinnia cried out. She was telling the Ghosts to flee.

On the dais, she faced down three Vandals. Two more stealth scouts had surprised her, taking the opportunity presented by his absence. Zinnia was the only thing that stood between them and the Ghosts.

Shenu charged to the dais, the Void thick in his veins. Perdita was the first to go to Rest. Zinnia fired at the three Vandals, pushing them back with bullets and Sol grenades. Her Light was getting weaker, she was getting tired. Ushabti zipped high up to the ceiling, already knowing that it was to sequester itself. That left Quarrel's Ghost, flitting uncertainly back and forth, looking for its Guardian. Shenu shot down one scout. Zinnia's flame finished the second.

"Ghost! Behind you!" Shenu roared.

Quarrel's Ghost turned as the third Vandal's camouflage ripped away. The Vandal launched itself from the wall and snatched Ghost out of the air. Quarrel cried out in rage, surging ahead of Shenu. She was thrown back by a Servitor pulse, hitting the ground hard.

The Vandal hissed at Ghost and slammed it against the Breaker, then raised a shock dagger and stabbed viciously into its shell. Ghost drew its fins around tight, helpless against the attack. Zinnia and Shenu descended upon the Vandal at the same time. Her hands seared flame, his boiled with the freezing Void. Ghost fell like a stone from the Vandal's claws and lay still on the dais floor. The Servitors rumbled closer.

Quarrel crawled up the dais, bloodied and dazed.

Shenu decided he'd had enough.

"Stand back!" he growled. The Void opened within him.

First, a feeling of hollowing so profound he felt he could disappear into thin air or shatter with the slightest touch. Then, he began to grow cold. Fantastically cold, the cold between the stars, the cold before Time, the cold of the Thanatonaut Dive. Light began to fill the emptiness. It poured in to the point of pain and beyond, to fullness so tight he could vomit. It poured in and he drew deeper, drank of it, an empty vessel to fill. More and more, until there was nothing left to do but —

Explode.

He howled. The Void erupted. With the surety of long years of practice, he channeled the blast through his hands — a tidal wave of Light through two human palms. For roaring, glorious seconds, the world was ultraviolet hell. Void Light raised him into the air, overwhelmed his helm sensors, burnt away the cheap fusion harness on his back, burst his ear drums.

Shenu hit the ground. He blinked away the spots in his vision. The world sounded like water in his head. Nothing remained of the Fallen. Not even a scrap of plating from the Servitors. The concrete floor where they had stood was scoured to the sheen of glass.

Zinnia sat dazed. Quarrel huddled over her broken Ghost, shuddering. Shenu began to speak to them, his own voice sounding very far away.

"Retreat. Go back the way we came. Get your Sparrows as soon as possible."

His hearing popped into fullness. The sounds of the room, his voice, his boots on metal, rushed in loud and clear. At least Ushabti's healing was quick. He scooped up his fusion rifle and fired three blasts into the Breaker. The machine groaned and crumpled.

Zinnia stumbled off the dais. Shenu hauled Quarrel up by her scarf, shaking her fiercely.

"Go!" he shouted, pulling her along until she finally found her feet. "Run! Or so help me, I'll give you a reason to!"

They ran.


	32. Shame

Ghost wouldn't stop shivering. Quarrel felt the vibrations against her bare palms every few seconds, sudden and violent. She spoke to him, murmured assurances and encouragement as her jumpship hurtled through the clouds. He did not answer. She would not say that he was dying. She could not let that thought so much as cross her mind without dashing it away in panicked fury.

At their current pace, the City was still hours away. She knew Perdita's calculations were correct, that current fuel levels and engine capabilities meant they were going as fast as they could. Perdita wouldn't lie about that. But Ghost was in trouble. They needed to get home.

Zinnia's round face was tight with worry every time she looked over her shoulder toward the rear jumpseat. After Perdita handled the launch, the ship's autopilot was doing most of the necessary work, but Zinnia was in a better position to take over the flight controls if necessary. Quarrel quite literally had her hands full. Every time the Warlock looked back at her, green eyes full of sadness for Ghost, Quarrel wanted to snap at her. _Don't look at me that way! Yes, I know I messed up!_

Quarrel shifted her hands, readjusting her hold on Ghost. One broken fin slumped uselessly against her fingers. Tiny filaments within the triangle flickered with Light and heat. That was heartbreaking enough, but it was the spiderweb of cracks on his ocular case that frightened her the most. Perdita had explained that a Ghost's fins were replaceable. The ocular case was not. Repairs could be attempted, but if the damage was too extensive…

It was too horrible to consider.

Perdita glided over Ghost and sent out another scan. She clicked and burbled at him. His faint chirps were almost too soft to hear.

 **He's doing much the same** , Perdita announced. **No change for the worst, at least. He should go back to Rest.**

"You heard her," Quarrel murmured to Ghost, just in case he was thinking of arguing. Ghost did not protest at all. She wanted to believe he was just in agreement, not too hurt to be able to speak to her. Ghost vanished from her palms. She felt the familiar shroud of his presence, augmented by a vague sense of sick. A hitch in her heartbeat. A souring in her guts. Her Light alone was not enough to heal Ghost, not even if supplemented by Shenu and Zinnia. Shenu had told them he was calling up a council of Warlocks to meet them at the Tower and attempt a healing. Until then, the best thing they could do now was to let him Rest.

If Shenu's reaction was anything to go by, she could expect to be ejected from the Tower without so much as an overnight bag as soon as they arrived.

 _I wouldn't care_ , she thought. _It doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters until Ghost gets better._

She didn't even know what to say to him. Sorry wasn't enough. Sorry would never be enough. He always acted like he was the one taking care of them both, but what chance did a little Ghost have against an army of Fallen? She was responsible for him and she had put him in danger. She'd left him exposed, against her better judgment and against Shenu's warnings.

Ghost could be infuriating. Sometimes he was such a pain that she'd wished she could just ditch him for a few hours and feel what it was to be alone. Now that alone was threatening to be a permanent condition, the claw in her throat pierced to the core and would not let go.

Alone.

No matter how close Zinnia stuck to her side, no matter if she joined Dane's fireteam or an entire Titan Host.

 _Please_ , she silently begged, _please don't leave me._

She couldn't find the words. Maybe he already knew.

"Don't worry. Ghost will be okay!" Zinna said over her shoulder. Quarrel stared down at her empty hands.

"Ushabti was hurt a long time ago, in a fight with the Hive at Mare Imbrium," Zinnia went on. "They thought he wouldn't make it, and now he's just fine! I mean, he has that scar, sure, but I think it's dashing!" She was babbling now, trying to make her smile. Instead she writhed with guilt."Cayde is always saying to keep scars. They remind you of what you've been through, and of lessons learned." Zinnia's green eyes widened, realizing what she had just said. "I mean, it shows how far you've come and what you've been through, so you shouldn't be —"

"I know what he said!" Quarrel snapped.

Zinnia went quiet. Quarrel continued to stare at her hands

"You made a mistake," Zinnia said quietly.

"Oh, really? Did I?"

"You can't dwell on it."

"Easy for you to say."

Zinnia's eyes turned reproachful.

"Take it easy! I'm just trying to help!"

"I just want to get to the Tower and fix Ghost!"

"Maybe you don't want any help, but you should take it! As I recall, that's why we're in this mess to begin with!"

"Shenu was hanging back!" Quarrel snarled. "He wanted to run instead of fight!"

"For good reason!" Zinnia cried. "We were outnumbered!"

"By one Captain? I thought a senior Warlock could do better than that!"

"It was more than one Captain!" Zinnia protested. "Shenu knows when the odds are against us!"

"We were a fireteam of three! Some Fallen should have been no problem!"

"Clearly they were!"

"I had no trouble!"

"With Shenu's help!"

"What did you do?" Quarrel sneered. "Oh, that's right! Got jumped by stealths!"

"You've got a lot of nerve!" Zinnia gasped. "I think you've been hanging out with Dane too much!"

"Is that _your_ opinion?" she spat. "Or is it Shenu's? Or maybe it's Banshee's or Master Rahool's! Don't you ever think for yourself?"

Zinnia flushed.

"We were training! I was supposed to listen to Shenu!"

"This was not training!" Quarrel exploded at the Warlock. "Shenu had us on a mission! He told me so himself! Couldn't you see that?"

"What? That's absurd!"

"What kind of training puts Novices in the field rescuing a Warmind?" Quarrel cried. "Think about it! This was not some kind of Warlock retreat! We were saving Rasputin!"

"He…he never said anything to me!" Zinnia stammered.

"What difference would it make if he had?" she shouted. "You'd still just be in the way! You'd still let them get to Ghost while you were waiting for _orders!_ "

Zinnia gaped at her, eyes wide with stunned hurt.

 **Stop it, both of you!** Perdita buzzed. **What everyone needs to do now is rest!**

Quarrel turned to the window. Zinnia faced the console without another word.

She dozed fitfully, waking a couple hours later from bad dreams. Her heart thudded as she searched for Ghost's presence. It was faint, but it was still there. Zinnia was asleep now, curled up awkwardly in the pilot's seat. Quarrel reached out, hesitated, then let her hand fall in her lap. She leaned back in the jumpseat and shut her eyes against despair.

* * *

Zinnia shook her awake. They were in the Hangar. She hadn't even felt the landing. Quarrel followed the Warlock off the jumpship. Forced to leave in haste, they had abandoned their campsite and remaining belongings to the steppes. Ghost was murmuring to himself, a soft patter that she couldn't make sense of. Her Light felt all wrong. Sickly, weak, lacking.

Shenu was waiting for them on the runway. He appeared calm. His rage had passed, leaving only a hint of exhaustion in his bloodshot eyes.

"You are dismissed," he told Zinnia. He led Quarrel out of the Hagar. Shame would not let her look back.

It was morning in the City. The Tower was already awake and bustling. The familiar sights could not dispel the deep dread slowly crushing her. She averted her eyes when they passed the Speaker's chamber, set her focus only on Shenu ahead of her, afraid to look elsewhere and see her guilt reflected. Afraid to let her thoughts spiral back into panic.

Four Warlocks were waiting for them in a small, sunlit study in the North Tower. One of them was Ikora Rey. Quarrel dared a glance at the woman and immediately felt smaller than Ghost. There was no hint of anger on the Vanguard's face. Rather, it was the look in her hazel eyes, thatknowing, that made Quarrel cringe. She could not hide from what she had allowed to happen. She could not deny what she had done.

She did not recognize the other three. One was a strikingly handsome man with dark hair that curled in shining ringlets. At his side stood an Awoken woman with white eyes and a mask of carefully painted black dots that covered her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. A tall, skinny man stood behind them. He wore his straw-colored hair in a long tail gathered at the nape of his neck and played with a puzzle toy, turning it over and over in long fingers.

"Bring forth your Ghost," Ikora said.

Quarrel obediently held out her hand. Ghost did not appear. He had gone silent. Then his murmuring started up again and she breathed a tiny sigh.

"Come out, Ghost," she urged. "Let Ikora take a look at you." A few moments later, he appeared on her hand.

 **So tired!** he sighed. His eye flickered.

When Ikora reached for him, Quarrel almost snatched Ghost away. But the Vanguard leader was infinitely gentle as she scooped his broken shell into her hands and brought him to a small table. Shenu and the other Warlocks gathered close.

"Arc burns," the tall Warlock noted, his spindly hands still probing the puzzle. He looked like he had only just noticed that anyone had arrived. "Fallen weapon charges?"

"Yes," Quarrel said. Her own voice was barely above a whisper.

"He is weak," Ikora said. "His Light shivers."

The Awoken woman traced a finger over Ghost's broken fin.

"The shell will need replacing. His casing is compromised."

"Remove the shell so that his systems may detach from restoration," the handsome Warlock said. "We should address the cracks first."

"Agreed." Ikora nodded.

Quarrel fidgeted. She did not know how to remove the shell. She hadn't known it was even possible, though she had seen different kinds of Ghosts around the Tower. She had never bothered to ask.

"Relax," Ikora murmured to Ghost. "Release your shell."

It looked like Ghost was going to sleep. His iris was barely open. Then he clicked, and his fins drooped. The triangular points clinked together in Ikora's palm, falling away as though strings had been cut. Carefully, Ikora lifted Ghost free with her other hand. The handsome Warlock took the discarded fins. Ghost was now just a tiny, shivering sphere.

She wanted to howl. The cracks spiderwebbed from the edge of his lens around to cover his chassis. One was perilously deep, cutting straight through his casing. She realized that she had no idea what a Ghost was made of. What had been damaged? Something vital? Where was his brain, his consciousness, located?

The Warlocks crowded in even closer to examine the wounds. She fought the urge to run, terrified of hearing their judgment. The other Ghosts appeared, including the elusive Ushabti. They too crowded around Ghost, clicking and chirping at each other, conferring busily in a bustle of fins and shimmering movement. Ushabti appeared to have a lot to say for once. The others quieted to defer to him several times. She gazed sadly at the dark Ghost, noticing again the permanent cloud hanging in his iris and the long, ridged scar.

Ikora transferred Ghost to Quarrel's shaking hands. He was so unbearably small now.

She was instructed to focus her Light while the council worked. She opened her mouth to ask how and felt ashamed. Ikora saw the question in her eyes.

"You will know. Your Light will follow." A cryptic answer she had no strength to berate.

The Ghosts gathered in a ring over her hands. The Warlocks stood in a semi-circle before her. Shenu and Ikora turned their palms upward. The Awoken woman steepled her fingers. The handsome man brought his cupped hands to his navel as though he were holding a ball close. The skinny Warlock made a fist at his chest with one hand. The other still worried the puzzle.

"Begin," Ikora said.

Quarrel's eyes fastened to Ghost shivering in her hands. She thought of him, thought of what she'd done, panic wailing through her that she had no idea what she was doing, that she couldn't help, that she had failed him —

Warm Light blossomed over her palms. She felt the flood of it, pooling around Ghost and seeping into her and then from her, mingling with the offering from the Warlocks and their Ghosts. The warmth crested to a healing wave, cold and lovely, settling over Ghost like morning dew. Ghost's eye opened wide. He glanced up at her, suddenly alert. The cracks glowed. The smallest ones thinned to nothingness. The deepest closed to a single, shining hair as fine as a spider's thread. The Light winked out.

"It is finished," Ikora said. "Take him to Rest, Guardian, for he is very weak. In time, he will fashion a new shell."

"Thank you!" Quarrel croaked. Her voice was thick, her tongue stuck with that awful shame. "Thank you. I will."

She cradled Ghost to her chest and left the study before her legs could fail her.


	33. On the West Road

Quarrel sat in the bright cabin of a Tower transport headed for the Wall. The transport was bulky and slow compared to the sleek jumpships that whistled out of the Hangar daily. It was also a good deal roomier — although that roominess was quite strained at the moment with twelve fully-armored Titans squeezed aboard. Their physical bulk alone was enough to make her feel crowded. Their magnanimous personalities finished the job, pressing the confines of the cabin with laughter and jokes despite the very early hour. She was already beginning to understand that hanging around Titans was a tactile experience. They were constantly knocking fists, bumping chests, slapping each other on the back, sometimes giving outright bear hugs. Even the quieter members, like Boone and Marina, suffused everything around them with calm and good cheer.

It took a day of despondence and a whole lot of insistence from Marina, but she and Boone had finally coaxed Quarrel out of her rooms. They had offered her a spot on a routine City perimeter patrol with Swan's Host, promising fresh air and a good look at the more civilized sectors of the provinces. Ghost's urging sealed the deal, at a time when her burning shame and self loathing had made her jump to fulfill his every need — a curious turnaround of their earliest days together. Truthfully, he hadn't asked for anything since his healing but to be at Rest with her. He'd said nothing at all about her foolishness. Somehow, that was worse than any anger he could have shown.

So she had accepted, desperate to do something, anything, to make it up to him.

Nobody else was going to make such an offer as the Titans had. She hadn't heard so much as a peep from Dane, and she had the sneaking suspicion that the whispers of what had happened were responsible for his absence. Who would want to associate with any Guardian so careless as to leave their Ghost open to attack? She still couldn't understand why Boone and Marina were being so nice. Had Zinnia said something to them?

She hadn't spoken to Zinnia since leaving the Cosmodrome. They had only exchanged quick glances at the Vanguard briefing the evening after their return. That meeting had left them both sufficiently humbled as Zavala impressed the need for them to exercise good judgment and to dare to question orders when "training" went out of control. But the Commander had also commended their bravery in routing the Fallen from Rasputin's databanks. Their disruption of the Breaker had come as a great relief. The worst part had been once Zinnia was dismissed. Zavala had had quiet words with her in private about Ghost. It wasn't the terse reminder about field protocol that had made her shame burn even hotter. Rather, it was the sympathetic look in his eyes as he inquired about their health. She'd had no stomach for forgiveness. She still didn't.

Shenu had not been present at the briefing. Upon Zavala's dismissal, she had run into him as he was coming out of conference with Ikora Rey. She wasn't going to forget that look of cold fury on his face any time soon.

"So you survived your time with the Warlocks," Boone said. "I can't say we have any grand adventures planned, but the day is still young. Try not to hold it against us if we don't."

"Believe me, I could really use some peace and quiet," Quarrel sighed.

"You're in the wrong line of work for peace and quiet," Marina said, sitting at her left. "But we'll see what we can do." Somehow Marina made even that grim statement seem not so bad. Maybe it was because they were headed to routine Wall duty and perimeter patrol, or maybe it was just the good spirits of the Titans themselves.

A few eyes met hers while Quarrel looked around. The Titans were curious about her presence, though none made her feel unwelcome. She did feel like the odd one out anyways, what with her considerably sleeker armor and her conspicuous lack of a Mark. Swan's Host all wore the same pattern on their hips, a white swan embroidered on a field of sky blue, bordered by numerals denoting the date of foundation. It was a pretty thing, strangely elegant for a rowdy group of Titans.

Swan herself sat at the head of the cabin going over reports on her datapad. She was a slight woman, a good two heads shorter than Quarrel, with deeply tanned skin and a mane of curly chestnut hair woven into a thick braid. She had the look of someone who spent long days out of doors. Her strong handshake had echoed that earthiness.

Quarrel wasn't being entirely truthful when she spoke of wanting peace and quiet. A break from battle was welcome, but there was a mutinous part of her that burned with resentment at her last, poor performance. As stupid as it sounded, she wanted to charge back into the Cosmodrome and prove that she could do better. Fortunately for Ghost, that sedition was firmly buried under her guilt. It was just as well that their assignment was a routine gate patrol. Hopefully, she could handle that much without messing something up.

Days of dreary clouds had broken at last, and the morning promised to be glorious. Quarrel twisted to look out the window behind her, taking in the City as they flew over. Canals twinkled in long lines beside dark, straight highways. Plumes of smoke rose from chimneys where a residence was warding off the dawn chill. Towering clouds billowed out of giant complexes whose purposes she didn't know. Vehicles jammed the roadways in a colorful moving patchwork. A long train rushed through the concentric Districts, piercing the City like a dart. The massive Walls ringed all of it, and presiding above the spectacle was the Traveler itself. The glass skyscrapers soared upward as if to touch its surface with their spires.

Despite her somber mood, she was enchanted. She wanted to know what every building contained, where every person was going. Boone noticed her interest and took it upon himself to be a guide to the wondrous sights.

"See that over there?" Boone pointed to a white, golden-domed edifice fronted by a long row of columns. "That's the City Senate building. It's kind of like the Consensus Hall for civilians. We're just leaving the Foundry District right now. That there is an ore refinery for Omolon," he pointed at one of the huge smokestacks, "and way over there is Hakke's assembly plant."

"And way off in the distance there is the West Gate." Marina said. She pointed toward a section of Wall that nestled along the harbor. The West Gate was their destination this morning.

"What's out there?" Quarrel asked.

"Not much, really," Boone said. "Mostly water treatment plants and waste management facilities. The harbor is pretty neat, though. Especially if you like boats."

"There is a nice park," Marina added. "It's got a big lake from the inlet. Good for hot days, or so I'm told."

"Will we go see these things?"

"Heh, that's up to Swan," Boone said. "We'll definitely be walking the West Road some."

"Oh!" Marina exclaimed. "I forgot about the Bazaar! It's right at the Gate. That alone could keep you busy for days."

"The Bazaar…?"

"It's a little trade outpost that sprang up from the Road," Marina explained. "There's nothing quite like it anywhere else in the City!"

The Titans continued to point out the sights as the transport cut a path to the West Gate. All eyes drew to the Traveler as the ship drew near. Even Quarrel was pulled away from the City to get a glimpse of their mysterious patron up close. She stared at its broken shell, feeling a new sympathy. Those cracks reminded her too much of Ghost.

 **I'd forgotten how nice it feels to be so near to the Traveler** , he chirped from Rest. **It's too bad we can't stay.**

She continued to watch the Traveler until it passed out of sight, trying to understand how it could birth something like her Ghost, wondering if it knew where its children had gone to. Eventually she turned her attention to the Wall as the transport banked and lined up for approach.

"Where will we land?" she asked.

"You'll see." Boone's tone was cheerfully enigmatic.

From Quarrel's view, it looked as though they were simply going to fly straight into the Wall. Then she saw the hangar port gaping open and realized there was a landing strip waiting for them inside. In minutes they were settling onto the launch pad, the ship's thrusters powering down. All through the cabin, Swan's Host began jostling around for stray gear and preparing to disembark. Swan stowed her datapad and tightened her gauntlet clasps, her helm tucked under her arm. She stood as the ship settled down, swaying easily with the rocking.

"Places to the Wall, Host!" she called over the chatter. Immediately, all talk ceased. The Titans stood from their seats, helms under arm. The ramp extended and they began to file out in neat order, Swan leading the way.

"Follow me," Marina said.

Quarrel and Boone were the last off the ship. She followed Marina down the ramp and into a hangar echoing with the sounds of the engines powering down and the shouts of personnel. The Host made a smart march through to the back, their stamping boots nearly as loud as the machinery. A few workers paused what they were doing to salute.

Swan led them to a nondescript stairwell nestled in the back of the hangar. She broke into a quick run up the zig-zagging concrete steps. Without missing a beat, the rest of the Host fell in, running after her in perfect time. Quarrel hurried after Marina. Just as she was beginning to get winded, wondering how many more flights there were to go, they were pouring out a door into the open air. At first, she could only see the armored backs of the Host in front of her. As they fell into line, she realized that she was standing on the very top of the Wall itself.

The view from the Wall was not so high up as from the Tower, but it was so utterly different that she caught her breath in wonder. They were facing out toward the Western provinces. Rolling, grassy hills met a vast expanse of water stretching fingers into the land. Docks and wharves lined its shore and swarms of boats dotted the blue. The hills were covered with fallow fields outlined by kilometers of fencing in neat, geometric precision. An enormous road spanned three times the width of any other around it, a rutted dirt path that turned to cobblestone the nearer it came to the Wall. That had to be the West Road. She had a few moments to take it all in. Then Swan turned them about to face the East. Far and away over the tops of the City roofs, the sun was cresting the mountains.

With Swan in the lead, the Titans raised their arms in unison, pressed their palms together, and bowed low. A few beats behind, Quarrel followed along as best she could. Their movements were slow and deliberate, reminding her of the stretches Shenu had performed. The sequence repeated itself, and on down the line those Guardians who needed to breathe let their breath out in controlled measures. She caught a glimpse of Boone, the rising sun shining off his armor and his scratched face plates. His red eyes were closed, savoring the morning. Marina stood beside him, silver and white, chiseled strength. She raised her hands to the sky as though she would hold the world up on her slim shoulders.

A few uniformed civilian guards roamed the Wall. They took smiling note of the Titans as they passed but did not stare. This seemed to be a familiar routine to them. The sounds of the morning rose up from the City, traffic and blaring horns. Ahead, circling gulls called. The breath of dawn snatched up the ends of their Marks. Her scarf rippled, cleaned of blood and ether and sweat.

They ended the sequence in another bow that straightened to face the risen sun. Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. There seemed to be no hurry at all to get on with the day. The Titans stood like proud pillars.

Then Swan's voice rose above the wind.

"The City!" she cried.

"Our charge!" The Titans cried in unison.

"The Wall!"

"Our might!"

"The Traveler!"

"Our hope!"

"The Light!"

"Our love!"

Again, Swan repeated the invocation. The Titans cried out their affirmations. Swan shouted a third time, exhorting the lines behind her. Their answers were a wave of sound so enthusiastic, Quarrel was caught up in it herself. She felt suddenly giddy, watching the burning ball of the sun, standing in line with giants.

Swan turned about-face to gaze at her Host. Her weathered face was radiant, the picture of duty with the promise of a joyous smile waiting to burst through. She looked at Marina and nodded.

"Fall in!" Marina bellowed with such force that Quarrel could hardly believe it had come from her. The Exo became the head of a double-columned line. Boone strode up to Marina's right shoulder.

"All right, soldier," he chuckled at Quarrel as the rest of the Host hustled into formation behind them. "Try to keep up!"

She had no time to ask him what was happening. She slipped behind Marina and stood shoulder to shoulder with a massive, red bearded Titan. He smiled at her, kind blue eyes twinkling. Marina and Boone took off at a loping run. The huge Titan at her side took off a pace after the Exos. She knew then that she had better follow or she would be trampled by the column behind her. They began to run the down the Wall.

If they had been expecting her to complain or fizzle out, Swan's Host was sorely mistaken. The clear morning and her pent up sorrow demanded a run like this.

Marina began to sing. Her voice rang out over the columns, pleasant and strong.

 _When the morning light has come,_

 _When the night bird's work is done,_

 _Keep up, You Light-burnt Host!_

 _Up earlier than a Ghost._

 _Our breakfast is toil to most_

 _They whine for their jam and their toast_

 _Keep up, you Light-blind Host!_

 _Rain or shine, we'll have our boast._

 _The Light shone down upon you,_

 _Did it make you a Hunter with a cloak?_

 _(No, sir!)_

 _Then keep up, you Light-scarred Host!_

 _Go when the Hunter would choke!_

 _The Light shines deep within you,_

 _Did it make you a Warlock with a Bond?_

 _(No, sir!)_

 _So keep up, You Light-lashed Host!_

 _Rise when the Warlock would yawn!_

 _The morning light has come,_

 _The night bird's work is done,_

 _Keep up, this is Swan's Host!_

 _Don't make an ass of your Ghost!_

The Titan next to her bellowed his responses like a laugh. She bellowed along with the column, amused by the jabs at the other Orders. Swan's Host was tireless. Quarrel thought she might not make it much further. Would she be trampled under the charging Titans behind her if she slowed? She didn't want to give up. The pain of her exertion was nothing against the pain she was trying to outrun.

Finally, Boone and Marina drew to a stop. The Titans were allowed to break their columns, putting their hands behind their heads and panting for breath, or for the Exos, testing servos and joints after the toil. Quarrel fought the urge to double over with hands on her knees. She was certainly looking more worse for wear than any of the Host. They had to have gone for kilometers, running up and down the Wall to end where they began at the top of the hangar stairs.

They had only a minute to rest before the Host began a new set of exercises. Marina and Boone called out the orders, joining the exertion themselves. The Titans cranked out pushups and situps that made her arms tremble and her middle feel like liquid fire. She gave out long before any of them. By the end of it, she felt about as substantial as her scarf, which was now quite soaked with sweat.

Still the morning routine was not over. Next came martial drills, sequences of combat forms that the Host had memorized long ago. Again, she followed along as best she could. With each jab and kick to the air she felt like she could barely lift her limbs. The Titans' shouts rang out in fierce concert.

Swan called a halt. The Host wiped their brows, stretched, and were finally allowed to talk among themselves. Boone checked on her as she fought for breath and drank gratefully from her canteen. Marina went to Swan's side to confer.

"You still standing?" Boone laughed.

"She's got some fight in her yet," the massive Titan said at her other side. He and Boone clasped forearms, slapping each other on the shoulder.

"Quarrel, this is Falstaff," Boone said. "He's been around Swan's Host even longer than I have. We just humor the old dog these days."

Falstaff's laugh must have echoed down to the City below.

"Isn't that the truth?" he grinned. "Are you joining the Titans, then?" She shook his meaty hand, her own swallowed up in his sure grip.

"I haven't decided yet," she answered. They stood nearly eye level. Falstaff was only an inch taller than her, though far more muscular.

"Ah, to choose an Order again," Falstaff sighed. "Those were the days!"

"Old Falstaff here begged me to join him in the Titans as a Novice," Boone said. "I still don't know whether to kiss or kill him for it!"

"I had nothing to do with it!" Falstaff chortled. "Marina only had to say hello and Boone couldn't sign up fast enough!"

Boone punched Falstaff's shoulder with a force that would have sent Quarrel sprawling. The blow only made Falstaff laugh harder.

"What do you think so far, New Light?" Falstaff asked her after his mirth died down.

"I think I need to survive."

Her answer amused the two Titans greatly.

"Are you always on the Walls?" she asked.

"Just about," Boone answered. "Swan's Host is primarily oathbound to the City."

"Some of us are Pilgrim Guard, including Boone, so you'll see him wander off into the wilds now and then." This time Falstaff punched Boone's shoulder.

"Pilgrim Guard?"

"We usher in travelers who have come to live in the City," Boone said. "It's good work. Teaches these Wall layabouts how to guard something other than a hunk of concrete." Boone punched Falstaff back at that. The two Titans laughed.

Swan called them to attention once more. Boone and Marina gathered up the end of the line as they trailed back down the stairs. Quarrel's knees shook with each step down the echoing passage. They passed the hangar door until they reached a simple landing at the very bottom of the Wall. They stood in its huge shadow, in a plaza at the foot of the West Gate. The Gate itself was enormous. Two thick bay doors spread open to the countryside, big enough to fly a transport through. Colorful banners hung down either side of the entryway, bearing sigils of the City and the Titans. The thick band of the West Road stretched into the City where it splintered into smaller arteries.

Even at this early hour, crowds milled around the plaza. Many were uniformed City guard. Others wore City fashions in dizzying patterns and colors, festooned with scarves and jewelry and belts. Perfumes filled the air, mingling with the scent of food and spices from a row of stalls nearby. Children ran laughing and squealing through the crowds, dogs at their heels, dodging hand carts and bicycles and the occasional rumbling truck. She and Boone stepped aside as a man and woman led snorting horses by the reins. The beasts tossed their heads and swished their tails, their great, liquid-dark eyes watching the Guardians. Music rolled over the din of conversation in a dozen languages, a mix of radios and a street performer's drums. It was so different from the cold, snowy morning she'd spent in the Foundry District. Even the looks on the people's faces were changed. They smiled at the Titans with true joy, showing no hint of the fear that had plagued her passage.

She wanted to stop and stare. She wanted to dash off into the crowd and see what every stall was displaying. But Swan was striding toward the open gate.

The Host gathered under the archway while Swan detailed their assignments. One detachment of six, headed by Boone and Marina, would patrol the West Road. The remaining six, headed by Swan, would stay at the gate at the service of civilians.

"You're with us, Quarrel," Marina said. She led her group away from the portal, after a smart salute to Swan. Falstaff was in the detachment as well. They made room for her to walk with them on the right side of the road.

"Welcome to patrol," Marina said, sweeping a hand across the horizon. "This is the West Road, one of the four major thoroughfares into and out of the City. All of the cardinal roads are met by gates, and all connect the provinces to the City at large. The only other way in or out of the Walls is by jumpship, but you won't see a lot of civilian traffic come in that way unless it's a high-level official from the mines or City dignitaries leaving to inspect the farms. Most folks prefer to use their own two feet — or get some help." She glanced at a plodding horse pulling a small cart down the way, its riders a woman carrying a baby on her back and a little girl barely old enough to hold onto the saddle's pommel. A rickety motorized scooter trundled by, barely faster than the horse.

"Vehicles and Sparrows are a luxury of the City," Marina said. "Out here at the edge of the wilds, those luxuries tend to disappear."

"If we were heading out further, we'd take our Sparrows or jumpships to make the trip quick," Boone said. "But out on regular patrol, we like to walk the Road with the people."

Watching the Titans, Quarrel could believe they really did enjoy their duty. Especially Falstaff. The burly giant had a smile for everyone. Children pointed excitedly as the Titans passed. A few even broke from their families to trot alongside them, a little phalanx of bare feet and grubby hands and wide eyes. They kept a respectful distance at first, sucking on fingers and whispering and nudging each other, admiring the armor and Marks. Falstaff eventually reached into a pouch at his hip and produced a handful of brightly wrapped sweets. Now the children were all skips and smiles and excited shrieks, and Falstaff's booming laugh rolled over them all. They took the candy from his massive hand, darting in and out like little birds, and ran off to show what prize they had come by from the Guardians.

"He's gonna get us a parade going before long," Boone chuckled.

"Better that than running and hiding whenever we come by," Falstaff sighed.

"The people have always set themselves apart," Boone replied calmly.

"This is different!" Falstaff insisted. "The Trinary are coming back. They're whispering their blasphemy all over the City!"

"You always say that," Boone chided. "There hasn't been any real upset from the Trinary in ten years at least."

"I tell you, they're coming back around! You can't set foot in the City now without stares and whispers following you!"

"You are aware that you're about the size of an icebox and filled with the Light?" Marina teased.

"It's not what you'd normally expect!" Falstaff cried. "The looks are cold! Cold as ice! Chills me to the bone, it does! There's some respect, sure. But even shops I've been by for half an Age now are suddenly pinch-faced and tight-lipped around me. Mothers tell their children to get indoors! The last time I visited Nora to repair my Mark, I found she'd moved to the South District. The folks that had taken over her old place couldn't get me off the stoop fast enough! They wouldn't even open the door more than a crack to tell me where she'd gone!"

"The people are afraid of us," Quarrel murmured. "I've seen it." She recalled the face of the beggar in the doorway, quaking with fear. Even the civilians in the Tower had a guarded way about them. Polite and respectful, yet keeping their distance. She remembered the young maintenance worker who had shown her to her quarters her very first night in the Tower, patiently explaining all the comforts while she struggled to stay on her feet and keep from falling asleep. He'd been afraid too. He'd smiled warmly at her, spoken kindly, but his eyes could not hide his fear.

The three Titans exchanged a glance, as if wondering what to tell her.

"Guardians have always been seen as different," Marina said. "It's no wonder, really. Traveler or no, it's not every day the dead come back to protect the living."

"Our ability to wield the Light is a mystery to most," Falstaff agreed. "Our battle prowess is no small thing either. And our, ah, persistence in living doesn't help dispel any of that awe. Add the curious little Ghosts to the mix, and I guess you can start to see why civilians find us a little much."

"That's why it's good to walk the Roads," Boone said firmly. "To show the people that we are here for them. To let them look on us and see that we are not monsters."

"But that's precisely what the Trinary is telling them we are," Falstaff said grimly.

"Who are they?" Quarrel asked. They seemed to forget that half the time she had no idea what they were talking about.

"Nobody to worry about," Boone said.

"Snakes!" Falstaff growled at the same time, his mouth twisted up in disgust. "They're snakes — and she ought to know, Boone!" The big man turned to her. He was no longer even remotely laughing. "The Trinary isn't just any one person. It's an organization. Informal, lurking in the shadows. They've been around for Ages, and they poison the people against the Light."

"But why?"

"The Traveler save me if I know!" Falstaff cried. "The Darkness moves in all of our hearts at times. Those of the Trinary have listened to its whispers and are convinced that the Traveler came to our System to doom us all."

"But we protect them. How can they doubt us?" she asked.

"Doubt us? Loathe us is more like it!" Falstaff snorted. "In their twisted sight, we're a threat as big as the Fallen. Even bigger!"

"What do the Trinary do?"

"Mostly they talk, but that's more than enough." Falstaff scowled, a particularly frightening expression on his normally cheerful face. His hands were clenching into fists at his side, over and over, as if he were thinking about punching something. "Ten years ago, they did more than that. They bombed the City college, accusing them of being a 'puppet of the Tower' or some such. I was there for the aftermath. The Light help anyone connected with the Trinary that day. If I ever find them…!" He let the threat trail off. His gauntlets creaked.

"I remember it too," Marina said quietly. "Zavala was on the warpath, and any sympathizers were driven deep underground."

"Unfortunately, I think that gave the Trinary more ammunition," Falstaff muttered darkly.

"Should we have done nothing?" Boone asked.

"Of course not! I'm just saying that you can't wipe out a plague like that in one go and call it a day. The Trinary will survive as even one Dark-hearted person, feeding on any hint of discontent, just festering away until it grows into a City-wide movement again! All the more reason for us to take notice and squash it where we can."

Boone said nothing. Quarrel was still curious about this strange shadowy organization, but decided to drop the subject. She hadn't meant to sour the mood of the patrol.

The great road took them near to the harbor, where Marina diverged and led them down toward the docks. Here the road was cracked mud, deeply rutted by the wheels of trucks and carts. A sharp, fishy tang hung in the air. Boats of all shapes and sizes moored on the calm water. Their sails gleamed like the City banners, and some of them bore the same symbols. Sailors clambered over their decks, hollering and waving their arms, bringing up traps and hauling out iceboxes of fresh-caught fish. Long, low warehouses lined the wharves, just as noisy as the Tower Dock she had stumbled into days ago. Fish gutters wore bloody aprons and tossed their fare from dockhand to dockhand, the giant fish flashing through the air like a new sea. Mounds of guts piled on the ground, dusted by sparkling scales.

The little band of Titans made their way through the commotion with the ease of long familiarity. The harbor workers did not question them. Quarrel stood by curiously while they bartered for a catch of fresh fish. The rocking boats caught her attention again. She gazed out at the sparkling bay, feeling a sensation much like she felt when staring off of the Tower. What lay beyond that horizon? She suddenly envied the vessels that were chugging away from port, longed to hitch a ride on one and see for herself. Gulls cried overhead, their calls urging her on.

"We'll eat good tonight, New Light!" Falstaff nudged her, breaking into her thoughts. He hefted a salty package of fish wrapped in oily paper. "I make the best fillet you've ever tasted — no offense to Madame Ella! Join us, and you'll see!"

His Ghost appeared, its delicate pink shell making it look like a floating, fragile bloom.

"Duchess will stow them safe in the kitchens until we return." He grinned at his Ghost and waggled a finger at her. She made a tiny noise of distaste at the brine on his gauntlets, her fins flattening against her ocular case to avoid his touch, and transmatted the package away.

Noon found the detachment lounging in the shelter of a grove of trees just off the main road. Here they picnicked and talked loudly of patrols past and the goings-on of the Tower. Boone reclined against a broad tree trunk, legs crossed in a figure four and engrossed in a book. Marina and a few of the Host played catch with a found ball until the game came to a halt with the ball stuck up in a tree. While they scratched their heads and tried to hit it down with rocks, Quarrel swung herself up into the branches and climbed. Her fatigue had lessened somewhat with the lunch and rest, and as the lightest armored of them all, it was only practical that she went after it. The leafless branches were liable to break under the weight of a Titan like Falstaff. The Titans cheered her on.

The ball game turned to strength contests. Their laughter had to be heard all the way back at the Walls when Quarrel was persuaded to join. Falstaff had his fellow Titans punching a rotten log, each vying to see who could do the most destruction in one go. He made a concession for her, and told her to punch his open hand. She looked at him dubiously, saw he was serious, and raised her hands. It turned out she couldn't so much as make him take a step back. She cracked her knuckles against his thick palms again and again, each strike sending the Host into peals of laughter until she was laughing and out of breath herself. When Marina stepped up to give her pointers, Falstaff begged for mercy. The slim Exo sent him stumbling back into the log with one blow, which earned even more laughter and cheers.

Eventually Marina called them to order and they were on the march once more, this time headed back toward the City. The Wall loomed up bluish and hazy in the distance, towering over the rolling hills. Only the tallest spires of the Inner City peeked above their bounds. The Traveler glowed, making her want to sigh with emotion she could not place.

Falstaff began to hum to himself as they walked, then broke into a slow, thoughtful song. His voice rumbled basso profondo, gruffer than Marina's singing by far, but no less pleasant.

 _Look for me on the Road, my Love_

 _I travel from the North_

 _The Gap is sunny and still_

 _Where the Light once proved its worth_

 _Look for me on the Road, my Light_

 _I ride from the South_

 _From the pasture's rocky fields_

 _And the mighty river's mouth_

 _Look for me on the Road, my Heart_

 _I walk from the East_

 _Along the ridges wreathed in storms_

 _The kingdom of the beasts_

 _Look for me on the Road, my Life_

 _I sail from the West_

 _To the harbor's inns and groves_

 _In their arms, I took my rest_

They were maybe a kilometer or two from the Walls when Marina stopped.

"Swan's just hailed me through interlink. Seems there's a bit of trouble at the gate. She's calling us back."

"There's very little Swan can't handle," Falstaff said. "If she's calling for backup, we'd better get a move on."

"Agreed," Boone said. "Get your Sparrows."

"What's going on, Ghost?" Quarrel asked quietly. "Did you hear anything?"

 **No** , he chirped, as her Sparrow materialized in front of her. **I'm sure this is just a precaution.**

"Let's hope so."

Seven Sparrows raced toward the Wall, her mind racing faster to what they might find. Were the Fallen daring to strike at the Walls? Could it be this Trinary group that Falstaff was talking about?

Marina sent Falstaff to accompany two of Swan's group who still stood at the gate. Boone glanced back at Quarrel and pointed ahead before taking off again. They rumbled through the crowd at the gate. Marina was leading them to the bazaar, the line of stalls she had been so interested in earlier that morning. There it became too crowded to use their Sparrows without risking bowling someone over.

The bazaar sprawled under a canopy of suspended cloth and flags, and at this time of day it was jam packed. Shouts filled the air, hawkers crying their wares, excited shoppers haggling over prices. Chickens squawked from makeshift pens, ducks and geese quacked and honked in cages. A surly looking mule tethered to a truck brayed and snorted. Through the commotion, Boone hardly broke stride. Quarrel followed hot on his heels. Anyone who didn't immediately scurry out of the way upon setting eyes on Titan Marks and gleaming armor were quickly jumping aside when Marina called out to let them through.

It didn't take long to see where the problem was. A crowd was gathering some ways down from the entrance to the bazaar. They hung about a doorway set into the Wall itself, over which hung a neon sign proclaiming _Dolan's_. The Titans pushed through the mob until they reached the shallow steps underneath the sign.

"Make way!" Marina hollered. The crowd pulled back, revealing Swan and a very distraught looking young man who was being held by another member of the Host, a slim woman who stood like a statue against the crowd jeering at her captive. Her gauntlet merely rested on his shoulder, and the man was sinking down in his leather jacket as though he expected her to tear his arm off at any moment. Swan looked up when Boone and Marina approached, her eyes hard.

"Falstaff's at the gate," Marina said. "What's going on?"

"A fight broke out inside Dolan's," Swan sighed. "Somebody put the mark of the Trinary out in the bazaar here. Seems like the entire gate is convinced it was this man who did it. Jeong Seok and I had to step in before things got out of hand." She took a quick look at the shouting crowd. Their faces were contorted with anger. "I'm not convinced we have things under control as it is," she grunted. "Alain took a couple of the Host to go looking for another culprit. Several reports said this man was seen with a partner. All we know for sure is that he riled up the patrons inside Dolan's and got himself into hot water."

Boone stepped up to the man. His dark eyes shifted nervously between Swan and the Exo. He looked like he desperately wanted to run. With Jeong Seok's hand on his shoulder, he didn't dare move from his spot.

"Peace," Boone said, both to the man and to Jeong Seok. She withdrew her hand. The man shrank a little more where he stood, huddling nervously into himself. Boone's greeting clearly did not reassure him. He looked very young, maybe a few years older than the boy Jorin. His clothing, though a little roughed up at the moment, was markedly different from the jumpsuits and work flannels that dominated the bazaar. The cloth was finer and cut for fashion, the jacket he wore an expensive, shiny leather not meant to protect the wearer.

"What's your name, citizen?" Boone asked.

The young man licked his lips a couple of times before answering.

"Lucais," he muttered. Quarrel could barely hear him above the noise of the crowd and the chaotic bazaar.

"Tell me what's happened, master Lucais," Boone said.

"It's like I told her," Lucais said, jerking his chin toward Swan. He had a black eye that was quickly darkening. "I was having a bite to eat at Dolan's, just minding my own business. Some guys came up and started accusing me out of nowhere that I painted the Trinary mark on their stall."

"Who makes this accusation?" Marina called out to the crowd. Two men stepped forward, apparently ready for the question. They were burly fellows, suntanned and clothed in patched overalls, several years older than Lucais. One was a few inches taller than the other, sandy blonde and sporting a scruff of beard on his chin.

"That Dark-lover disgraced our stand with the Trinary mark!" The taller one growled, pointing a thick finger at Lucais. The shorter man pointed at a nearby salvage stall and a defaced sign. Gaius & Sons, the sign proclaimed, but the yellow letters were now obscured by a hastily spraypainted black triangle, its point sticking toward the ground. Dribbles of black streaked down the wood.

"I didn't do it!" Lucais protested. "I was inside the bar! How could I have done it?"

"Your friend, then!" the shorter man cried. He was clean shaven, wearing a thick knit cap. "I saw you slinking around with him!"

"Where is your friend?" Boone asked, but he was drowned out by renewed shouts from the crowd.

"Enough of this!" Marina called to Swan. "Bring those two inside with us!" She pointed to the entryway set in the Wall.

"Go," Boone commanded Lucais. The young man shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and slunk toward the door past Jeong Seok. Swan gestured for the two angry men to follow her. As Quarrel passed the threshold, she could hear Jeong Seok shouting for the crowd to clear off. She hesitated, wondering if perhaps someone should stay to help.

"Don't worry about her," Swan said. "Jeong Soek can take care of herself." Indeed, the crowd was already shuffling away. Those who lingered quickly got the hint when the Titan came to stand in front of them. She merely had to cross her arms over her chestplate and glower.

They stepped into a dim, smoky room. The confines of Dolan's were defined by the Wall itself. Whether it was always intended to accommodate a business or whether the bar had simply crammed itself inside an empty space was anyone's guess. The whole affair had a poky feel to it, something hidden away and opportunistic. Mismatched tables and chairs scattered across the floor. An ancient jukebox with half the lights burnt out stood against the far wall. Pool tables with felt worn down to the granite clustered in the corner. The bar stood to Quarrel's left, a long dark counter topped with ashtrays and abandoned drink glasses. A few patrons who had not been curious enough to join the mob looked up when they entered. An Exo stood behind the bar, quietly picking up glasses. Her yellow eyes fixed each one of them with a calculating stare.

"Everybody out!" Boone called. "By order of the Vanguard!"

Most of the patrons needed no more prompting than that. Chairs scraped on the yellowed tile floor as people hastily grabbed their coats and made for the door. One man remained at the bar, nursing a beer while staring blankly at a vidscreen. He was hastened out by a swat from the bartender's rag.

"You heard 'im!" She glowered at the man. "Scram!"

The man threw back as much of his drink as he could in one gulp before teetering out on wobbly legs.

"Sit," Boone commanded the young man. Lucais pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat, hands folded nervously in his lap.

Boone stood over him, Swan at his side, Marina at the other. Quarrel hung back by the door, watching the proceedings. The bartender slung the rag over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at the Titans. She was a smaller frame than even Marina, her casing a matte black like Guinefort's with just about as many scratches and scrapes on it as Boone sported on his. She wore leathers like Lucais, but of a rougher cut — practical rather than fashionable. A multitude of mismatched necklaces hung around her neck, each sporting a curious charm.

"Guardians," she called. Her voice had a gravelly edge to it. "Did you have to make my bar a courtroom and scare away my business?"

"Sorry, Fianna," Marina said over her shoulder. "It's a circus out there and we needed some quiet. We won't be long."

Fianna grunted and flipped the rag back onto the bar, mopping up rings of condensation. Her apparent lack of awe for Guardians did not seem to bother the Titans. Her yellow stare fixed on Quarrel at the door a few moments before she put her attention back to her work. Her whole attitude suggested she didn't find much of note.

"I got enough troubles without fights happenin' here," Fianna muttered, scrubbing the bar top in methodical circles.

"Did you see the start of it?" Swan asked.

"'Course I did. I see everything in here. Them two fellas," she pointed a nub of an index finger at the burly men, "came up to that boy and started shoutin' at him. The whole damn bar lost their minds when they started hollerin' Trinary. I had to send my boy Damian home 'cause he got a broken nose. Now here I am, watchin' this place alone. Watchin' my glimmer leak away." She fixed them all with a glare, as though even the Host had something to do with this.

"Is this true?" Swan asked the two men. They still scowled at Lucais. Under Swan's scrutiny they straightened up some, tugged nervously on their clothes.

"Well, we did speak to him." the shorter one admitted.

"We recognized him from earlier this morning," the taller one broke in. "Him and his friend were acting shifty in the bazaar. I was watching to make sure they weren't planning on stealing anything, but they moved on. And then, just a few minutes later, Harmon saw the Trinary mark fresh-painted on our stand!"

Harmon nodded emphatically.

"He had the paint!" He thrust out a backpack, half unzipped. Boone took it and reached in, pulling out a can of black spray paint.

"Is this yours?" Boone asked Lucais.

Lucais scowled.

"Yeah, that's my bag. But that's not my paint! I lost my bag and — !"

"No, he didn't!" Harmon cried. "It was sitting right next to him at the table!"

"Did you take this bag from him?" Swan asked, her eyebrow twitching upwards. The men flushed and shuffled their feet.

"They took my bag and started going through it!" Lucais growled. "I told them to give it back, and when they found the can they started accusing me of painting the mark! Then the whole bar went crazy!"

"Only 'cause you threw a punch!" Harmon sneered.

"Because you wouldn't back off!" Lucais cried.

"'Cause you're filthy Trinary! I don't have to abide that!"

"I'm not Trinary! I told you, I didn't do it! I don't know how —"

"Peace!" Boone cried. The three clammed up.

"Be civil," Marina said, fixing them all with stern looks. "Now, we want the truth, and we don't want to waste any more time. Is that clear?"

They all nodded, eyes fixed to the floor.

"Good."She looked to Lucais. "How did this paint get in your bag if it's not yours?"

"I don't know," Lucais shrugged helplessly. "My bag just had my class notes before they took it. I left it at the table and went to order my food at the bar. Maybe someone put the paint in there while I wasn't looking."

"Could it have been your friend?" Boone asked.

Lucais rolled his shoulders, distinctly uncomfortable.

"Maybe," he muttered. "Ethan is always joking about pranks like this. I don't think he'd actually do anything though!"

"Where is Ethan now?" Swan asked.

"He said he had to get home," Lucais said, scuffing his boot against the dusty floor. "He lives all the way in the Inner City so he had to take the train. I didn't feel like leaving the bazaar yet so I came here to get something to eat."

Boone turned to the accusers.

"Tell me exactly what you saw. Was Lucais ever anywhere near where you found the mark?"

"Well, no…not exactly." The taller one rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, he was at our stand, with that backpack. He was looking over our scrap and so was his friend. I kind of lost sight of them after a few minutes."

"Did you see anything suspicious about their behavior?" Swan prompted.

"I guess not," Harmon said. "It was more…well…these College kids like to come to the bazaar and mess around. They don't have anything better to do when they're done with classes."

"So neither of you actually witnessed the mark being made?" Swan sighed.

"Um…no, ma'am."

"And was anything stolen from your stall?" Boone asked.

"No, sir…"

Boone, Marina, and Swan exchanged glances.

"Seems there's not much more to be said," Swan spoke up. "I don't see any paint on Lucais' hands, and it looks like Ethan's long gone. We can't prove Lucais did anything, nor can we disprove it."

The taller man cleared his throat.

"Um, begging your pardon, Guardian, but uh…well…couldn't your, uh, Ghost maybe take a look at the can? You know, analyze it or something?"

Swan raised an eyebrow.

"Analyze the can?"

The man's face was beginning to turn red.

"Um, you know…just to see the fingerprints or something? Uh, it can do that, can't it?"

"Yes, he can," Swan said. "Though it still won't tell us who painted the mark. In fact, I expect he'd find your prints on it too, as well as Boone's here."

The man's face went even redder. He hadn't thought of that.

"Oh. Of course. Um…I just was thinking that, you know, Ghosts are so remarkable and all…" he mumbled and stuttered, trying to save face.

 **The powers civilians attribute to us are really rather odd** , Ghost chirped, just to Quarrel. She stifled a laugh.

"I'm afraid we're at an impasse," Boone said. "Like Swan said, we can't prove or disprove anything. At this point, I think the matter is closed."

Marina reached into a pouch on her belt and withdrew a handful of glimmer.

"This ought to cover the cost of a new sign," she said, holding out the glimmer to the stall owners. They goggled at the glimmer and at Marina.

"Take it," she said. "Let Lucais go in peace."

They nodded and gingerly took the glimmer from her hand.

"You'll want to keep a better eye on your belongings from now on," Swan told Lucais. "And discourage your friend from any practical jokes involving the Trinary." Her blue eyes fixed Lucais to his chair. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"I'll give him an escort to the train station if you'll round up the Host at the gate," Swan told the Exos. "Rendezvous at the Tower for debrief in one hour."

Boone and Marina saluted their acknowledgment. Lucais went timidly in front of Swan while she followed him out the door. The stall owners mumbled their awkward thanks and left.

"You shouldn't hand out glimmer like that," Fianna spoke up. "Folks will come begging."

"It's a small gesture to keep the bazaar free of Trinary graffiti," Marina said.

"I can't believe we had to step in and handle this mess," Boone sighed. "The Titans are not City Patrol."

"Too bad," Fianna grunted. "You know security is understaffed and overworked. Those that aren't corrupt, anyways."

"The City should still govern itself," Boone said. "I don't understand. Security was all over here this morning. Where were they when the Mark was painted?" He shook his head. Quarrel could read the disappointment in his red eyes, his thoughtful posture.

"S'like I told you. Corruption everywhere, Titan! Don't tell me you can't see it from the Tower." Fianna fixed Boone with a look that clearly said she thought he was being dense.

"You can't call one little incident corruption!" Boone snorted.

"Suit yourself," Fianna shrugged.

Boone went to the door where Quarrel still waited. "Let's head back to the gate. You can come with us to the debrief in the Tower if you'd like. Otherwise, that's your lesson for the day."

"Come on," Marina said, heading outside. "I can show you a little more of the bazaar."

"Not even a drink before you go?" Fianna grumbled as they filed out. "Well, send the mobs back in here if you're done."


	34. In This Together

"Well, if it isn't the liberator of Warminds herself!"

Polaris called out to Zinnia as she was crossing the plaza. She blushed, gathering her overcoat against the late afternoon chill and waited for the Hunter to catch up. Of course Polaris knew about the Cosmodrome. It was a Hunter's business to know the very things a person didn't want known! What should have been a huge point of pride had turned to ashes in her mouth. Shenu was furious with the way she had fought — or rather, tried to fight — and Quarrel…well, Quarrel blamed her for the Vandal getting to Ghost.

As much as that stung, she knew Quarrel was right. If it had been her up there, or Shenu, Ghost would have been fine. Quarrel had popped off and gone against the retreat order, but the distraction had bought the time they needed to disrupt the Breaker, a feat the Vanguard had actually commended them for. In fact, their return would have been a complete triumph were it not for Ghost's injuries. Zinnia's failure to protect him had soured the victory, especially for the Vanguard. They'd yelled at Shenu instead of her — who had then just yelled at her anyways — but she knew the blame belonged squarely at her feet. She was a Warlock who couldn't do the most basic field tasks, and everybody knew it now. Everybody had known it before. She'd been the only one who couldn't see it, so much so that her own Mentor hadn't trusted her with the truth.

"What's the matter, ZeeZee?" Polaris asked, craning to see her face while she hastily scrubbed her eyes. If he saw her crying she'd never live it down.

"Nothing!" she said brightly. "Just the wind!"

"Going to be a cold one tonight," he said. His kind eyes had softened into a sympathetic smile. She could barely tolerate that any more than if he'd laughed. She liked Polaris all right — he wasn't nearly as obnoxious as his boyfriend — but he also had a way of knowing when people weren't being truthful. Usually he called them out on it.

"You doing okay?" he asked. "Me and Tory went to have a drink in your honor at Marina's and you weren't there. She said you've been pretty scarce."

"I've just been busy," she said. Well, it was the truth! Every waking moment had been split between Shenu's studies and the Archives. Perhaps the only good point out of this whole mess was that Master Rahool had actually been impressed to hear they'd encountered Rasputin. But had that gotten her out of shelving? Ha! As for Shenu, he had doubled down on Warlock combat drills, including some weapons training. She'd thought he would just send her to Banshee for that, but the Mentor was content to teach her himself. She much preferred Banshee. He might tease her some, but at least he didn't threaten penances and glare at her like she was a piece of dirt on his boot!

At any rate, it wasn't just about avoiding Quarrel, which she knew Polaris had to be thought it was about avoiding Quarrel. Everyone tried to get her to reconcile. Not that she didn't want to. But…how could she ever make up for her uselessness? She had nothing to offer Quarrel that Dane or Polaris or Boone and Maya couldn't do better. Light, what a miserable mess!

"Where you headed to now?" Polaris asked. His kind smile had not left. Neither had that look in his eyes. Stupid, know-it-all Hunters! Why didn't he just come right out and laugh at her like everyone else?

"The Central Study," she sighed. "I want to get there early so I can catch up on some reading." Reading she was supposed to have done this afternoon, were it not for catching up on Katilyn's translation work that had been backing up in the Archives for a week.

"Sounds like Warlock heaven," Polaris grinned.

"I guess," she muttered.

They started a slow walk across the windswept plaza. Polaris looked unconcerned by the cold, but he was always camping out in the wilds so he never thought it got truly uncomfortable in the City. His long black cloak flared behind him. She'd never admit it out loud, but it actually looked pretty nice. She kept waiting for him to pounce on her about the Cosmodrome, about Quarrel, about everything, but he never did. What was he waiting for? Probably just formulating a new and wittier joke with each passing second!

They were inside the North Tower passage when she'd had enough.

"Okay, spill the beans! I know you have something to say about what's happened!"

Polaris shrugged, amused.

"And what would that be?"

"You're going to tell me to make up with Quarrel. You're going to tell me that I shouldn't feel bad."

"I'm afraid you've caught me being selfish," Polaris sighed. "I was actually thinking about dinner. But now that you mention it, those sound like excellent conversation points."

She scowled at him. He reached out and tapped her nose.

"Didn't Perdita warn you your face would freeze like that? Come on, Zee. You can't blame yourself for what happened to Ghost. And you and Quarrel should definitely make up. After all you two have been through, it'd be a shame to go your separate ways now."

"You're one to talk!" she muttered, rubbing her nose. "All you and Tory ever do is fight!"

Polaris laughed.

"Yeah, but he's a walking ego and I'm a stubborn jerk. Anyways, we _have_ made up for the time being. In fact, we're going to head out together to do some scouting soon."

"Where to?"

His dark eyes sparkled.

"The Cosmodrome."

She stopped in the tunnel and put her hands on her hips.

"You're just making fun of me now!"

"I'm serious, Zee!" Polaris protested. "Cayde's got his scouts out full time now, especially since we've learned that Rasputin was threatened. Good work on that, by the way."

"Thanks," she mumbled, feeling another blush. She wished she could truly feel proud.

They were interrupted by a group of Hunters sweeping up the steps on the opposite end of the passage. Just her luck — it was Dane and his crew. Immediately, Polaris and the others were sizing each other up in that stupid way of Hunters, standing up a little straighter, brushing out their cloaks, thumbs caressing knife hilts. They looked like a bunch of strange cats that had been thrown into a room together.

"Hey, Polaris," Dane grinned, glancing between him and Zinnia. "Hanging out with legends?"

"It's preferable to has-beens," Polaris shrugged. Zinnia wished she knew how he came up with those witty remarks. He always knew how to knock Dane down a peg without ever quite saying anything at all.

"Guess you'd know all about that," Dane said. "How is Tory, anyways? I hear you're heading out to the Cosmodrome. Going to pick apart Kinna's ship for the Arach? She got shot down by a skiff a couple days ago. Barely made it out alive, but said her old ride is fair game."

Zinnia could have cheered over the jab to Tory, but coming from Dane it just made her bristle. And what was this about a ship?

"If we get around to it," Polaris answered casually.

"Lots of valuable stuff on a downed jumpship," Dane said. "Holliday would pay pretty well for some components." The two Hunters were inching closer to each other, each one trying to stand a little higher than the other. Somehow Polaris always managed to look taller, despite Dane having the actual height advantage. How did he do that?

"You could make a small fortune," Polaris agreed. Light, that was the truth! About the only thing that fetched more glimmer around the Tower than engrams were salvaged ship parts. Especially things like autopilot cores and NLS drives — Zinnia's eyes widened. Of course! A drive!

"Maybe I'll go check it out myself," Dane grinned.

"That sounds like a plan."

They eyed each other a few moments more before Dane sidled away.

"Don't let the Warmind bite," he called over his shoulder. Gelert and Guinefort exchanged glances. Polaris stepped back with a small bow, holding onto a corner of his cloak to let them pass by. Gelert twitched an eyebrow. They followed Dane out of the passage.

"Such a nice guy," Polaris sighed.

Zinnia grabbed his arm.

"Polaris, you have to get to that ship!" she said.

"Why? I don't care what happens to it. If Kinna wants it scrapped, so be it."

"You don't understand! I need that NLS drive!"

He smiled, puzzled by her fervor. She must have been a bit eager. Well, this was important!

"If Kinna's ship is still there when you go to the Cosmodrome, maybe you can get it for me?" she said hopefully.

"I guess I could," he said. "But why? You don't have a ship to put a drive in."

"I do," she said. "Just…not my ship."

His smile widened, suddenly understanding her.

"A gift, huh? I like it."

"You'll do it? You and Tory?" she grinned.

"We'll sure give it a try. We were supposed to leave in a couple days, but I think Tory would be fine leaving sooner if it means egg all over Dane's face."

Drat! She hadn't thought about competition!

"You think he's going to go after it too?" she asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised. An NLS drive will fetch the highest price from the shipwright."

"Get there first! I'll make it worth your while!" she promised.

"We will. Just hash things out with Quarrel while we're gone, okay?" Polaris grinned. "Newbie could use a friend like you, whether she knows it or not."

Zinnia threw her arms around the Hunter, surprising him. He laughed and hugged her back.

"You're not so bad," she said. "For a Hunter."

"High praise from a Warlock," Polaris chuckled. "My legend is complete. At last, I can retire!"

She stuck her tongue out at him. He tapped her nose again. The Tower bells chimed.

"Light!" she gasped. "I'm late! Shenu's going to kill me!"

She took off running for the elevators, leaving Polaris shaking his head.

* * *

Quarrel hurt. Sitting alone, drowsing against a tree trunk in one of the quiet Tower courtyards, she felt made of lead, creaky as an old iron hinge. Without Ghost's healing there were still aches and pains to deal with from her day at the Wall with Swan's Host. She could go to Jana for medication…or she could just sit with the pain. She chose to sit. The evening sunlight slanting low through the buttresses was a soothing balm for now, despite the deepening chill of twilight.

Ghost hated it, of course. All day he had chided her for refusing his help, even threatened to start healing her anyways if she didn't stop hobbling around. She ignored his threats, reminding him that he was not supposed to expend his Light at all during his recuperation. Oh, how the tables had turned! All the times she had gone against his wishes were now coming squarely around to bite her as she tried to wrestle with his stubborn protests. The Traveler must have had a real sense of humor sending her this particular Ghost.

She was just glad he was still alive.

Her one compromise was to let him leave Rest now and again to stretch his new fins. He'd fashioned them himself as Ikora had said he would, exact replicas of the old ones except for their new, flawless sheen. To look at him now one would think he had never suffered any trauma at all. The hairline scar that was left on his ocular casing was too faint to see unless he was practically touching her face. It was the unusual lethargy he had, the way his fins moved a little slower and twitched less, that let her know he was still recovering.

She was free to do as she wished, now that her patrol with the Host was done. She had not gone to the debriefing with Swan and Commander Zavala, trying to tell herself that it wasn't necessary and not that she was trying to avoid the Vanguard. Neither Boone nor Marina had pressed the issue. After the excitement in the bazaar, she just wanted to be alone with her thoughts. And with her Ghost. It was high time she worked up the courage to apologize for what she had done. Every time she looked at Ghost though, that burning shame swallowed her words. No apology could ever be enough.

For a long time they watched the shadows lengthen in the valley of Twilight Gap. When the last rays of sun disappeared in the west, she turned to Ghost.

He was hovering at her shoulder, watching her instead of the mountains. Even now he still stared and marveled. It seemed that having a Guardian of his own would never get old — no matter what she did to make his life miserable. She smiled and touched the glossy orange tip of his fin.

"What?"

Ghost blinked, roused out of his own inscrutable thoughts. Did Ghosts daydream? What about? There was still so much she did not know.

 **I was just doing a biometrics scan** , he chirped, a little guilty.

"What's the news, doctor? Am I well?"

 **You are. There's some residual inflammation, but beyond that — oh. You're making a joke, aren't you?**

"Yes. But your prognosis is still welcome."

He spun his fins in embarrassment. His thoughts might be inscrutable, but his moods were getting easier to read. It was hard to believe she had ever thought him just a machine.

"What did you do before you found me?" she asked. "Did you stay here in the Tower?"

Ghost blinked in surprise at the question and took a few moments to formulate an answer.

 **I did work in the Tower from time to time** , he buzzed. **I ran errands for the Vanguard that could be accomplished faster with a Ghost on the task. But most of the time I was abroad, looking for you.**

"You could do whatever you wanted," she said. "You weren't saddled with babysitting a Guardian all hours of the day."

 **It is a far more satisfying thing to have found my Guardian than to scour the System alone, wondering where you were.**

She had only meant to tease him a little, but his answer was so earnest that she felt a stab of pity for his wandering days. How it must have eaten at him! The knowledge of his duty, coupled with the fear that he might not realize it…and all the while she had been in wait, never even knowing it. An immense gratitude welled up in her. She had been alone too. Whether she'd known it or not, she had been. And this little Ghost had never stopped in his quest to find her.

"I'm sorry, Ghost. For everything."

Ghost trilled, looking at her curiously.

 **There's no need to apologize.**

"Not even for nearly getting you killed?" she asked, the words sticking in her throat.

 **I am prepared for that risk every day** , Ghost said. **I have always known there would be danger.**

"It was my fault. I went against orders." Light, was he really just going to forgive her like that?

 **Orders that were questionable to begin with** , he grumbled. **We are still learning.**

"I thought I knew what was best. I left you alone out there. I don't know what I was thinking. I…" She turned away, frustrated. She couldn't even do an apology right!

 **Why are you upset? I am not angry.** He sounded genuinely unnerved by her emotion.

"I'm angry! I've been angry this whole time, long before the Warmind, and this is where it's led us!"

 **Tell me** , he clicked softly.

"I…I don't know if I can! I don't know who I was or who I am now. Where do we go, Ghost? Where do we belong? You saw the people in the bazaar. They weren't so afraid of us as some of the others in the City, but they're still afraid!"

 **We have the Tower.**

"I know. But I can't stay here forever." She shook her head, frustrated by her inadequate explanation. "I know I can go whenever I wish. I just don't know where to start!"

 **I think I know a little of how that feels** , Ghost chirped. **All I can say is to take things one day at a time.**

"I'm trying," she said. "Light, I'm trying. It _hurts_ , Ghost. The Darkness is clawing. I can feel it. I'm running in circles here, watching the other Guardians leave for the horizon and…it's been getting worse and worse, until finally I just thought…" she took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I thought I didn't need you. I thought I didn't need anyone."

She waited for an outburst, for anything. For the admission that he did not need her either.

 **What do you want me to say?** Ghost finally asked. **That I don't want you for a Guardian?**

"That would be a start." She tried a laugh. She could hardly make a sound through the claw in her throat.

 **I will never say that** , Ghost said firmly. **You are my Guardian. We are in this together.**

"I don't understand," she whispered.

 **Spend several hundred years looking for someone, and you will.**

She rearranged her scarf to hide the tears stinging her eyes. Ghost let her be.

They sat a while longer, watching the stars emerge, until Ghost rustled his fins.

 **I'm being hailed by Dane's Ghost. He says Dane wants to talk. Something about a downed ship?**


	35. Meetings

Chelise felt a good deal more relaxed when she rounded the corner of the warehouse block and saw Yuriy Dyachenko. The stout man stood on the cracked sidewalk in front of the meeting hall doors, one arm still in a sling and the other shoved into his thick denim coat pocket. The night was frigid and felt all the more so in an unfamiliar corner of the Foundry District. In the dead of winter, the district was dark and cheerless. Between green industrial lamps, shadows gathered around the factories, storage complexes, and giant brick warehouses. She should have asked Kemal to accompany her, but Kemal would not want to even speak to her again after their last chat. Tamara and Inacio were too busy with their studies to come with, and Blair would just mock her work all night long, sighing and being generally unhelpful. It was better to go by herself, even if it meant glancing uncomfortably into the dark alleys.

"Good evening, Mr. Dyachenko," she called as she approached. Yuriy looked up and his round face broke into a warm, sincere grin.

"Ah! Sophie! There you are." His smile turned to a puzzled frown. "Did you come alone? It is quite late." The question was not suspicious coming from him. His paternal worry was easy to read in his dark eyes.

"It's just a short ways to the train from here," she said by way of reassurance. He considered her a moment and nodded.

"You look like you can take care of yourself. Anyways, it's probably just as well. These meetings are not technically closed, but I think the Foundry representatives wouldn't be so happy to have visitors who don't work in the mines."

"I won't cause you any trouble, will I?" Chelise asked, mind racing ahead. The last thing she wanted to do was bring Yuriy under fire. But she wanted into this meeting!

"Don't worry about it," Yuriy assured her. "If anybody asks, you are my niece and you are finishing up at school to work in the mines yourself."

"Do you think they'll buy it?"

"Sure! Lots of young people are going into mining these days. It's steady, good work. Well, when the Fallen don't bother us."

"Okay," she grinned. "If you don't mind claiming me as a niece."

"Ha! That's only if you don't mind having such an ugly uncle! You poor thing!" He made a face and they shared a laugh. She was glad that Yuriy was here. She probably wouldn't have found out about this meeting with Hakke without him, and it would have been a good deal more nerve-wracking to attend alone. Yuriy had a way of setting her at ease, even when her work was of such a somber nature.

"Let's get out of this cold." Yuriy ushered her through the front doors. The meeting hall was really just a smaller room attached to one of the warehouses. Nothing spectacular or particularly cozy, but it was at least warmer than the outside. People were already crowded into the echoing hall, sitting in folding chairs pulled up in orderly rows or standing around in clumps and talking. Their voices were low and fervent, their faces drawn. Yuriy had warned her the news may not be to their liking. At the head of the room, a long table was pulled up parallel to the rows of chairs. That would be seating for the Hakke representatives, who did not appear to be present yet.

Somebody had had the foresight to set up a large pot of coffee. Yuriy went to get them both a cup, leaving Chelise standing near the back of the chairs. She felt awkward and more than a little out of place, though she wasn't nearly the only person her age in attendance. Yuriy was right: there were quite a few young men and women. Still, she didn't know anyone and didn't have the slightest idea about mining to engage anyone in conversation. She supposed she could start asking for reports and opinions on the attack. But no, that could raise suspicion about her story. She wanted to see the outcome here first. She could always catch people on the way out.

Yuriy returned to her side and handed her a flimsy foam cup. She warmed her hands with it and took small sips. The coffee was bland, as expected.

"Ruslan is coming tonight," Yuriy said. "He should be here soon. I told him that he shouldn't bother since he finally has some time off, but he insisted. I think he worries I won't understand what Hakke will tell us." He smiled ruefully and blew on his coffee. "He's probably right."

"What do you expect to happen, Mr. Dyachenko?" Chelise asked. Yuriy struck her as more capable than he let on, but she was glad that his son would be looking out for him.

Yuriy shrugged with his good shoulder.

"I am not sure. I want to hope for the best." He glanced at the representatives' table. She could see the doubt written all over his face.

"I have been talking to colleagues of mine," Yuriy went on. "Ones who are a little higher up the food chain than I am. They say cleanup is going slow. They also say that every day we do not work is a day of lost glimmer. We already sorely needed that glimmer just to stay operating."

"I thought the eastern mine was one of the most successful?"

"It is," Yuriy said. "But that doesn't mean it is rich. The operating costs are enormous. I don't pretend to understand everything it takes to keep a mine like that going. I can understand that it takes a lot of people, a lot of equipment…and a lot of security now that we know for certain that we are Fallen targets."

"All the more reason I'm investigating," Chelise said quietly. "That security should come for free in the form of Guardians."

"That would be very nice." For some reason, Yuriy still did not look convinced. That puzzled her. What was so far-fetched about asking Guardians to protect their own? They relied on the Foundries, who relied on the mines. No mines meant no Foundries, and no weapons and armor for the Guardians. Then where would they be? She'd heard of their incredible Light-Blessed powers — those were a staple of bedtime stories across the City — but she seriously doubted they would get very far against the Fallen without a good helmet or rifle.

"It seems plain to me that you shouldn't have to worry about spending glimmer to hire Guardians," Chelise pointed out.

"That is if the Guardians are available," Yuriy sighed.

"Back to this again," Chelise grinned. "You talk as though there's a bigger threat out there than the Fallen."

Yuriy tried to return her smile, but it was still tinged with worry.

"Call me a fatalist. You remember what I said about Luna?"

"I do."

"I agree the mines are of utmost importance to the Tower's well-being. I also think the Tower is doing what it can with what resources it has. If it costs a lot to operate a mine, surely it costs a lot to operate the Tower."

She frowned into her coffee cup. That made sense too. But why did the Tower have to be such a massive organization? Why couldn't the Guardian's Peace come from all over the City?

"I am sorry. I don't mean to discourage you," Yuriy said gently. "There's always something new for me to learn, just when I'm getting set in my ways."

Chelise looked up at him and felt a little pang of regret. She hadn't meant to guilt him.

"It's okay. I'm still learning too."

Yuriy nodded as though she had said something very wise.

"Hey, there you are!"

Chelise and Yuriy looked up to see a tall, dark-haired young man striding up to them. She recognized Ruslan at once from his photograph. In person, he looked even more like his father than the picture, though with a narrower face and a certain delicacy in his features.

"You must be Sophie," Ruslan said, offering Chelise his hand.

"I am." His handshake was firm like Yuriy's, and his fingers were rough with callouses. He wore thick denim pants and a heavy coat with a wool collar. His boots tracked mud — either from the slush outside or the provincial fields, she supposed.

"Dad tells me you're doing a research project on the Tower. You need information on Hakke too?" His questions were not unkind, so she felt all right answering them.

"Hakke can get into the Tower. I can't."

Ruslan nodded, grinning wide.

"Good thinking. I saw some fancy looking cars pull up just behind my cab. The meeting should be starting soon."

The doors to the street opened again in a rush of night breeze. A cadre of people in business suits and silk scarves bustled inside, followed by a few City Patrol officers. All eyes turned to the newcomers, conversation diving to a murmur.

"Ah," Yuriy said. "There they are."

Chelise watched the representatives come up the aisle toward the head table. A woman maybe ten years older than herself led the way, carrying her leather datapad case under her arm. She lowered her fashionable scarf, revealing sleek blonde hair unruffled by the wind. She glanced over the assembled workers without revealing any hint of her thoughts. The man at her shoulder did not hide his feelings so well. Chelise could clearly see the scowl on his face, his displeasure at having to be here. Two others trailed behind them, another smartly-dressed older woman with short white hair and a kindly face, and a young assistant whom Chelise immediately recognized from the College. She looked outright harried, carrying a large bag slung over her shoulder and two large coffees — bought from the City, of course, not gathered from the communal pot.

Chelise, Yuriy, and Ruslan took their seats, shuffling down the aisle to make room for others. Yuriy sat between her and his son. The mood was growing tense now as everyone watched the representatives prepare and speculated about what they thought was going to happen.

"That's Elena Tilden, head of External Assets for Hakke," Yuriy leaned over and whispered. "The man next to her is Raphael Sapio, her vice president." He was the one who had been openly scowling. "I'm not sure who the other woman is. I'd guess human resources and such."

"I know that girl," she said to Yuriy. "Elena's assistant. Her name is Natalia. She goes to the College. Huh. I didn't realize her internship was so prominent." She felt a sting of jealousy. Natalia had been vying for an internship with Hakke since the start of the school year. None of Chelise's first choice applications to the broadcasters had been approved. Of course Natalia had been crowing to everyone how she'd been appointed to Hakke. Chelise had just assumed the bragging was to cover up being stuck in the mail room.

Natalia spoke quietly to Elena while she pulled out chairs and arranged the table to the representatives' liking. Raphael took a seat and grabbed his coffee, flipping irritably through his datapad. Elena herself looked cool and collected, lying her jacket and scarf over the back of her folding chair.

"Look!" Chelise whispered to Yuriy. "That woman has a New Monarchy sigil!" The white-haired woman had taken off her heavy long coat to reveal the distinctive crown logo on an enamel pin.

"So she does," Yuriy grunted. "I wonder what the Monarchy is doing here?"

Chelise wondered the same.

After a minute or so, Raphael glanced over at Elena, who nodded at him. He stood, raising his hands to the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to get started." The buzz of conversation died down. Chairs squeaked and a few coughs punctuated the silence.

"Thank you for coming tonight," he said, though the sentiment did not reach his smile or his dark eyes. "We promise to keep this short so you may be back home before too long." He definitely looked like that was where he wanted to be. The slick suit probably wasn't used to staying out late in places like the Foundry District. At this hour he would likely be found at the office, or at some trendy bar in the Inner City.

"Allow me to introduce the President of External Assets for Hakke, my colleague Elena Tilden." He gestured at the blonde woman, who waited for him to sit before speaking. She toyed with the datapad stylus in her slim fingers, passing it from hand to hand.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she said. Her voice was low and pleasant. "I am glad to see such a turnout tonight." Her face remained impassive, but at least her voice showed some hint of the warmth that Raphael's had lacked.

"As Raphael promised, we'll try to keep this short. I know you must have many questions about the current status of our eastern holdings. We'll answer what we can with the information we have available. Please be patient with us. Cleanup efforts are extensive and round the clock." She flicked the stylus across her datapad, glancing down at her notes.

"As you may be aware, medical benefits have already been paid out to employees injured in the attack. If you're having issues with these benefits, I encourage you to contact human resources immediately. Please be aware that it can take some time for the benefits to be processed, especially due to the large volume of claims such an accident necessarily incurs." A few grumbles went up from the crowd at that. Raphael glanced coldly around the room. Elena continued undeterred.

"Operating costs for the mine do not decrease simply because the mine isn't in operation. Unfortunately, this incident delivered extensive damage to our equipment and facilities. Current projections put re-opening at half operation in the range of four to five weeks. Full operation is projected in three months."

More murmurs from the crowd, many sounding incredulous. Yuriy grunted, scratching his stubbly beard. On his other side, Ruslan let out a slow breath.

"Again, I have to stress that these timelines are merely projections," Elena went on, still placid as ever. There was a firmness in her eyes that nobody seemed willing to challenge at the moment. "The actual dates could be pushed forward — as well as back — from these estimates. We will keep you informed as we gain new information." She took a sip of her coffee and flicked her stylus across the datapad again.

"As you know, Hakke has had a strong relationship with the Tower. Our contracts have long been held in good faith. This incident means we are no longer able to meet the goals outlined in our recent negotiations. As such, the Tower is needing to rely heavily on their other partners, and the revenue that we would have expected can no longer be counted upon. This, of course, means another hit to our budgets this year. The loss of revenue affects us all, and further hinders clean-up efforts."

"I don't like the sound of this," Yuriy whispered. Chelise nodded. She wasn't particularly savvy to the goings-on of the Foundries, but calling their lowest rung workers together to tell them bad budget news…? This had the stink of a layoff.

"For these reasons, Hakke is forced to redraw its budget for the fiscal year. We have gathered here tonight to inform you that your deployment to the eastern holding will be re-evaluated —"

Mumbles immediately turned into a storm of gasps and exclamations. Chelise's eyes went wide. They really were going to do it!

Elena continued to speak, raising her voice over the commotion. She had an impressive volume when she needed it.

"The positions will be re-evaluated and will recommence under our partnership with the New Monarchy."

The noise hardly died down. Chelise wasn't even certain if all had heard what Elena had just said.

Raphael stood, glaring out over the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd kindly pay attention!" he cried. "This meeting is far from over!" It was no use.

"Re-deployment?" An incredulous voice shouted from the crowd. "The eastern mine is the largest of the City! Will there be new positions for all of us?"

"What about our current contract terms? Will they remain the same?"

"When do you expect these re-deployments to begin?"

"What all is Hakke doing about the clean-up efforts, exactly?"

"Three months? Isn't there anything to be done?"

The questions peppered the head table relentlessly. Chelise glanced at Yuriy. He was worrying his bottom lip and gazing thoughtfully at the representatives. She would have to shout just to be able to ask him a question. Ruslan was shaking his head, chewing on his thumbnail like she'd seen Yuriy do during her interview.

The woman wearing the New Monarchy pin stood. She raised her hands, a calm smile on her face.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Please! I beg you to take your seats. The New Monarchy has much to discuss with you, and I am truly excited to bring you good news!"

The crowd reluctantly began to calm. A few whistles from the attendees and exhortations to listen to what the representatives had to say helped quell the unrest.

"Thank you." The New Monarchy representative smiled again, giving them all a small bow from behind the table. Raphael took his seat, deferring to the her. Natalia was scribbling notes on her datapad, glancing nervously around the audience like she expected them to rush the table and string them up on the lightpoles outside.

"Thank you for your patience," The representative said. "I am Chancellor Thompson of the New Monarchy. I have been dispatched to inform you of a new deal struck between us and our good friends at Hakke. I understand this is a difficult time for you all. An attack by the Fallen is an ordeal in and of itself. I am no stranger to this life. My own upbringing was with the mines out in the Gap, which we have hardly begun to reclaim since the great battle decades ago. We are determined that this new disaster will not be a repeat of history. While the damage to the eastern mine isn't as extensive as the occupation of Twilight Gap, it is still very significant. I myself was just inspecting the site only yesterday, and I am deeply saddened to see what has transpired.

It is our wish to help our partners at Hakke through this difficult transition. This, of course, includes all of you" — she gestured magnanimously at the assembly — "and finding the most direct route to re-employment. The City runs on the dedication and hard work of people like yourselves. It is a team effort to keep going in the face of such vicious opposition.

I am pleased to announce that the New Monarchy has entered into an agreement with Hakke in order to aid clean-up efforts and find gainful employment for all those affected by the attack. The New Monarchy does in fact own a handful of currently operating mines, and we have strong partnerships with Omolon and Suros. We believe that through these partnerships we can find a position for each of you in the days to come.

I beg you all to keep your patience in the coming weeks," Chancellor Thompson said, folding her hands in front of her in a firm plea. "Such redistribution does take time, but we will be in contact. Rest assured you are not alone in this endeavor. In the meantime, please continue to work through your departments at Hakke to settle injury claims and such. As we assess the needs of our current operations, we will be in touch about the best fit for you." She gazed over the assembly one more time and then nodded.

"Thank you, Chancellor," Elena spoke up before the crowd had the chance to rise up again. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

She turned her address to the waiting workers.

"If you have any questions, we do have a few minutes to address your concerns — provided that order is kept."

Natalia's hand poised over her datapad, ready to transcribe.

Of course, the crowd was a surge of curiosity. Anxious workers asked for details on the arrangement, trying to get a solid idea of just what was happening and when. Chelise couldn't blame them. That had been a lot of pretty promises, but no firm dates. Yuriy sat and listened with interest, every now and again scratching his beard or chewing on his lip.

The representatives could not quite answer to the assembly's liking. There was plenty of run-around as they tried to give themselves room to wiggle and the workers kept chasing after a firm answer. Chelise was beginning to wonder something herself. Nobody seemed to be asking the question that was taking hold of her. What of the Tower?

She sat in the midst of the heated conversation, wondering whether she dared bring up the question at all. Natalia would surely recognize her. But what of that? She wasn't asking anything illegal. Her question was a valid one, even for those who didn't work in the mines. The dealings of the Tower affected everyone. She made up her mind.

The representatives were beginning to look annoyed — Raphael was already well past that point — and even Elena was starting to show fatigue. She rubbed her eyes as she consulted her datapad and Chancellor Thompson. Her poise was to be envied, even if her position wasn't. If Chelise was going to get her question in, she had better do so now. She stood up, raising her voice over the din.

"What of the Tower? What has the Consensus pledged toward the relief effort? Or the Vanguard? They have to be interested in seeing the mine back to operation as soon as possible."

She was pleased her voice was stronger than she felt. A hush went over the room, for the first time since the new arrangement had been proposed. Nobody else had asked the question, but everyone was thinking it now.

 _What of the Tower?_

Chelise forced herself to remain calm at the center of their attention. Chancellor Thompson steepled her fingers and turned to her.

"It is my opinion that the Tower certainly wishes for the mine to be brought to full operation. Hakke is indeed a major supplier of raw material and weaponry for the Vanguard. Unfortunately, the Tower has seen fit to withdraw its guaranteed percentage of exclusivity at this time. The Tower will likely be relying much more heavily on the other foundries to do the work of us all. This is not a breach of contract on their part. The Tower has long insisted on flexibility in order to meet its needs. It is, however, an unfortunate turn of events for Hakke and its employees. As to whether or not the Tower wishes to pledge funding to our clean-up efforts, I cannot say. I am anxiously awaiting word from our own Executor Hideo, whom I am sure is advocating for you all."

"Have they mentioned further involvement with mine security?" Chelise pressed. She felt a curious buzzing through her, energized by a momentum she felt she could no longer stop. "What are we to do if this happens again? The Fallen have seen how crippled we can become by one attack. What's going to keep them from attacking again without obvious Guardian intervention?"

Chancellor Thompson's warm smile never slipped.

"I fear I don't have an easy answer for that," she sighed. "It is a very prescient concern. The New Monarchy can and does advocate on the City's behalf and on the behalf of foundries like Hakke. I do know that Executor Hideo's primary concern is transparency from the Tower. That is something I agree with heartily, and I'm sure the City would enjoy such as well. We will continue to raise the issue of security. In the meantime, I am assured that we have friends in the Tower who will add their voices to our chorus."

Eyes darted between her and the Chancellor. A few mumbles rose again, troubled whispers. Chelise wanted to press on. Elena raised her hand again.

"I'm afraid we need to be drawing this meeting to a close. As to questions about the Tower, I too can assure you that Hakke has made its needs clearly known to the Vanguard and the Consensus. I do believe we have their sympathy. What form that sympathy will take remains to be seen. However, once we are at full operation, I feel confident we will have the Tower's complete financial backing once more."

She gathered up her datapad and stood.

"Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen. We wish you the best and again urge your patience." Raphael, Natalia, and Chancellor Thompson also stood, gathering up their coats and scarves and belongings. Attendees attempted more questions, but were now dutifully ignored as City Patrol led the representatives out through the crowd. Chelise looked down at Yuriy, still sitting deep in thought.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think you are very brave to ask those questions," Yuriy said. She flushed, tightening her scarf.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dyachenko. I hope I haven't embarrassed you."

"No, no." He waved her concern away. "It is a good thing you have done. Somebody needs to ask the tough questions. They are legitimate concerns."

"And what about Hakke's proposal with New Monarchy?" she asked as Yuriy stood.

"I think I will believe it when I see it," Yuri said grimly, his smile fading.

"You don't think it's true?"

"It's true, I suppose," he said. "I just don't know what that truth will look like in the end. I doubt there can be work waiting for all of us."

"They need your experience," Chelise said hopefully.

"And the foundries need their glimmer," Yuriy sighed. "The less of us to pay, the better for their strained budgets. Even when our work is ultimately used for the defense of the City. Especially when the Tower can find a way to take care of that defense through other means."

"But they can't," Chelise frowned. "Not always. We've just seen that with the attack."

"And so it is a tangled web," Yuriy smiled ruefully. "But you already understand that."

She returned his smile, feeling her heart squeeze again. People like him were too good to be caught up in this mess. The deal with the New Monarchy and Hakke did sound a little too good to be true. But at least the representatives had come to look workers like Yuriy in the eye. There was nobody to be seen from the Tower.

Ruslan was staring at the empty head table, still chewing on his thumbnail while they gathered their coats. Seeing them ready to leave, he finally roused himself and followed them out.

"You got your claim settled?" Chelise asked Yuriy as they walked out into the chilly night. The workers were clustered in groups or walking together to personal vehicles and the various bus lines. The representatives were bundling into sleek cars, watched with more than a little suspicion by the workers.

"I did," Yuriy said. "I will get by." He sounded as though he meant it. She was glad for that, but still felt badly for him.

"You will," Ruslan said. "I'll make sure of it." His statement provoked protests from Yuriy. Ruslan smiled indulgently at his father, but remained firm. At last Yuriy sighed and waved his hands.

"There is no reasoning with you. Just like your mother."

Ruslan kept his grin, clearly considering that a victory.

"Don't you live in the other direction?" she asked as Yuriy stepped off the curb with her.

"If it's all right, I'd like to walk you to the train station," Yuriy confessed. "Times have been tough, and some desperate people roam the districts."

"If you insist." She grinned, touched by his concern.

"I can walk with her, dad," Ruslan said. "You should get out of the cold and rest that shoulder. Uh, is that okay with you?" He glanced at Chelise, a little sheepish.

"All right," she said. She didn't suppose she needed to worry about him.

"I will see you tomorrow?" Yuriy asked Ruslan.

"I'll come by and make you breakfast."

In truth, Chelise was glad for the company. She was itching to talk more about the agreement and about the Tower's absence. But she sensed that Ruslan could do with a bit of cheering up, so she kept the topics of conversation light. They spoke of hobbies and interests as they wound their way through the narrow dark streets toward the train station. She discovered that Ruslan and his father loved horses and horse racing. Ruslan's grandfather had been a breeder and trainer out in the mountains before the Battle of Twilight Gap. Yuriy often spoke passionately of his memories as a young child out on the ranch, watching his father and grandmother bring in the mustangs and gentle them. All that was lost during the siege, and the family had turned to mining for their livelihood.

Ruslan asked her about schooling, about her hopes for the future. He seemed pleased at her intentions for journalism, especially her plans to travel the wilds and bring word of the settlements beyond the provinces.

"I would love to travel," Ruslan said wistfully. They approached the glowing white lights of the train platform. "Even if it was safe to go into the wilds, work has got me so busy I don't know how I'd ever get out there."

"Aren't you worried about getting attacked out at the farms too?" she asked.

"Sure," Ruslan said. "The mine attack just showed us that's become a whole lot more likely."

"What will Harkness do?"

"What can they do? We've got protocols. We'll just have to see how well they work." He spoke causally enough, but she could hear the tension in his voice.

At the platform, they said their goodbyes. She tried to offer Ruslan cab fare, but he wouldn't hear of it. Stubborn, just like his father.

The train pulled up. Ruslan jammed his hands in his coat pockets and rocked from foot to foot. He looked like he was waiting for something.

"I think it was really brave of you to ask those questions," he said after a moment. "Somebody's got to do it."

"Thanks," she said, feeling both awkward and vindicated. "I know they don't make me popular."

Ruslan shrugged.

"They upset people because they point to the truth. The Tower has been silent."

She was surprised to hear such direct agreement from him.

"They've been silent to us, anyways," she said. "I suppose if I worked in the Tower I might know more."

Ruslan looked at her a few moments, dark eyes thoughtful.

"I do work in the Tower."

She stared at him. Was he making fun of her?

"Your father never told me that," she said.

"He doesn't know. I only just started. Harkness has me working as a porter to the Tower for half my shifts now. The regular guy who usually takes deliveries up there is out on family leave right now, so I took his place. I guess you can't really call my position Tower personnel, but it's the next best thing."

Chelise was flabbergasted.

"I didn't say anything to him because I didn't think it was going to be a very long appointment," Ruslan added. "But now it looks to be. Dad would just freak out anyways. He's pretty superstitious about that stuff."

By superstitious, Chelise had a feeling he meant the doctrines of the Light's Truth. At the moment, she was too excited to be much bothered by his attitude.

"Do you think you could let me know anything you hear?" she asked.

"Sure," Ruslan grinned. "If I can help, I'm glad to. It's about time someone looked into this."

She could hardly believe her ears. This was perfect! No more pestering Kemal. No more conjecture.

"Here's my interlink address," she said, fishing a scrap of paper out of her pocket and scribbling her information on it against a platform pillar. She handed it to Ruslan. He inspected it, grinning.

"I'll definitely be in touch, but uh…I don't have interlink access. Sorry."

She blushed. Of course! Out at Harkness, interlink was probably pretty spotty at best. The train car doors slid open, the call for passengers to board filtered out into the night.

"Do you have an address I can write to?" Ruslan asked.

"Sure!" She decided to give him her campus mailbox and wrote it on the slip.

"Thanks," Ruslan grinned. "It's kind of old-fashioned, I know. I'll get with the times eventually."

The doors chimed a warning for passengers to stand clear. Chelise hopped into the car before they could close.

"Don't get yourself into trouble," she said. I don't want that."

Ruslan grinned, looking utterly unconcerned.

"I won't. But maybe a little trouble is just what the Tower needs."

The doors closed before Chelise could reply.

* * *

Shenu's datapad chimed on the hour. Across the table from him in the Central Study, Zinnia was slowly and deliberately going through her mind-body exercises, a synthesis of ancient yoga and Warlock breath focus. Properly studied, they facilitated the channeling of Light to any point in the body. An experienced Warlock could summon the Flame or the Void without even raising a hand. Of course his wretched Novice was a very long ways away from that day.

Shenu closed the book he had been reading and stood from the table. It was time for his meeting.

"You will repeat the forms ten more times and conclude your lesson for the night," he instructed.

"Yes, Guardian," she answered, much too listless.

"Focus!" he snapped. Zinnia had been pouting ever since the Cosmodrome. He doubted even the threat of penances would dispel her gloom. She'd taken the Ghost's injury very hard, the Vanguard's lecturing too, and he wouldn't be surprised if her ears weren't sill ringing from his own displeasure. Light, it made him angry just to remember how angry he'd been! What a fool he was for taking Novices on an important mission. How exponentially more foolish to have one of those Novices be this cringing, cowering excuse for a Warlock! The only person he was more furious at lately was Ikora Rey. The Light scald that woman! She would never admit the service he had just done for the Tower by checking in on Rasputin!

He looked to Ushabti hovering near the lantern.

"See that she does not skip a single step," he told his Ghost. "I won't have her leaving early on top of arriving late!"

 **Yes, Guardian.**

Shenu snatched up his datapad and swept out of the study to his apartments. He needed absolute privacy for the vidchat conference he was going to set up with the Monarchy. Hopefully the Chancellor was taking similar precautions.

Of course she was running late. Just like his worthless Novice! He arrived at his apartments with not only enough time to set up the vidchat, but also to prepare some tea and drink an entire mug of it before the secure call came through.

"Forgive my lateness, Guardian," Chancellor Thompson greeted him. She did not look harried in the least, only a little tired, the lines around her eyes deepening as she sighed. "The meeting with Hakke's displaced workers went overly long. There is a lot of unrest, just as we anticipated."

Shenu bit back his irritation. He did not care one iota about disgruntled mine workers right now, but he knew he had to at least pretend to.

"That's quite all right, Chancellor," he lied, putting on a pleasant smile. "Your presence was exceedingly important to our mutual cause. I could hardly ask you to leave early."

 _And if she thinks I really couldn't, someone ought to scare the Light into her!_ Shenu thought.

"I trust the arrangement with Hakke went over well?" he said instead.

"There were some doubts, but I think we also made some believers in the Monarchy."

"Dare we say they have questioned previous loyalties yet?" Shenu asked pointedly.

Chancellor Thompson smiled.

"Funny you should say that. The Light bless me, there was just such a girl in the crowd tonight. Her questions were so on-the-nose I thought for sure you must have sent her as some kind of plant."

"What are you talking about?" Shenu frowned. "I have not been in contact with anyone outside the Tower except yourself."

"I know, Guardian. It was just so perfect. You would have been very impressed. She was a young thing, probably not even out of the College yet. She stood up right in the middle of the assembly and all but accused the Tower of turning its back on the people. It really was quite astonishing."

"Then the people are noticing," Shenu mused. "They expect better leadership already. Perhaps we do not have to lead them by the nose as strongly as we suspected."

"Perhaps. Beliefs run deep, Guardian. Especially in the Foundry district. The Light knows I have tried to change minds there before. I imagine Hideo is getting a taste of that stubborn streak even now with his renovation proposals for the district." She chuckled to herself, remembering something that amused her. Shenu did not care to inquire further about these renovations. What the City did with its land was of little importance to him, so long as it didn't interfere with his business. Let them keep scratching in the dirt and pretend it was a kingdom.

"Nevertheless," Shenu said, "it's good that their eyes are finally being opened to the Vanguard's carelessness. I tell you, Chancellor, they would be utterly shocked to learn how deep that indifference runs."

"That's why it's up to you to let us know just how bad it is," the Chancellor nodded. "And what kinds of alternatives await them."

"We must move quickly," Shenu said. "The Vanguard grow in popularity in the Tower after recent developments."

"Oh?"

"Let's just say that praise has been…incorrectly distributed," Shenu said. "I'm sure you've heard that the Hive are spreading on Earth."

"Yes." Chancellor Thompson's expression was subdued. "I hoped it was not true."

"It is, and the Vanguard do not take the threat seriously. Do you know, Chancellor, how close we we just came to losing the last Warmind?"

"Rasputin? Were the Hive after it?"

"The Fallen. No doubt because the Hive aggravated them to redouble their efforts. I managed to push the Fallen back, but you would never know it from the vicious gossip in the Tower."

"That is most unfortunate," she sighed. "You have done the City a great service. The people should know of it."

Shenu allowed himself a small smile.

"I appreciate that, Chancellor. However, you and I both know that revealing such information would only send the City into a panic. They would run straight into the arms of the Vanguard for reassurance. No, I will remain in obscurity a while longer if it means the truth eventually escapes. The people must know that the old regime is untrustworthy. Only then can they look to a new leader."

"We'll make sure the people know exactly who that new leader is." The Chancellor smiled warmly. "Do not worry, Guardian. I will be exacting with the details released about your good deeds. In a few weeks, the stories reaching the Tower will sound quite different from whatever the Vanguard released on official report. All in your favor, of course."

"Of course."

"In the meantime, I encourage you to spread word in the Tower of our aide to Hakke. The New Monarchy needs loyal support from within the Tower as much as in the City at large. Let the Consensus know that action is being taken in their hesitation. Let them know you stand behind that action. With any luck, they will agree that change must come."

The Chancellor's eyes grew distant. She played with the thick, gold crown sigil on her finger.

"Change is coming," she said. "Someday the people will see the truth of the Tower."

"That is is our survival and power," Shenu reminded the woman. "The center of our fight against the Darkness. And soon, the home of true leadership, not the laughingstock it has become."

"Of course, Guardian."

* * *

Guardian Zinnia finished the meditation forms and went to gather her belongings at the Central Study table. Ushabti watched her from the corner, trying to work up the courage to speak. He had not been alone with her since she had asked him about the Void in the Cosmodrome. These moments were precious, and coward that he was, he was squandering them.

She looked subdued tonight. She'd looked that way since their return. Her movements were sluggish, purposeless, while she pulled on her boots and piled up the books Guardian Shenu had ordered her to read. Her normally bright eyes were distant lately and always downcast.

 **Good work today** , he said. It was the truth, though it was not what he had meant to say.

"Thank you," she mumbled. She wouldn't even raise her eyes to look at him. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, and made for the door. Ushabti shivered with doubt. He was losing his chance! He was sure that the last thing Guardian Zinnia wanted was to talk with him, but he needed to speak with her. He had a confession to make.

 **Guardian? Um…may I talk to you?**

Guardian Zinnia turned from the door.

"What is it?" she asked.

For a few moments he could not find the words. He'd never seen such heavy sadness in her eyes. What he was going to say would not ease that sadness.

 **I…um…I'm sorry.**

"For what?" she asked, all resigned patience. She was very tired. His sensors could pick that up from across the room.

 **I should have told you about the mission** , he said. Guardian Zinnia's gaze dropped to the floor again.

"It's fine," she said quietly.

 **No, it's not! I should have said something.** Now that he could finally give voice to his guilt, the words began to tumble out. **I was stupid and, um, selfish and I…I was afraid of what Guardian Shenu would say if I, um…if I told you what he had planned.**

He fell silent, fins quivering with shame. Guardian Zinnia continued to stare at her feet.

"It's okay, Ushabti," she said after a moment. "It's not your fault."

 **But you…you deserved to know!** Ushabti protested. How he wished she would just look at him!

"I deserved to know from Shenu," she said dully. "He deemed it unnecessary. Who am I to argue with that?"

To his horror, he saw tears glinting in her eyes.

Far be it for a lowly Ghost like him to question Guardians, but Guardian Zinnia did _not_ deserve this censure!

Ushabti came closer. Guardian Zinnia turned her face away.

 **Please don't be upset** , he begged. **You know that you deserve better!**

"Shenu was right," she said, scrubbing her eyes angrily. "I am no Warlock."

 **No!** Ushabti trilled. **Guardian Shenu is…he's wrong about that! He's wrong!**

The vehement admission stunned him. Guardian Zinnia finally looked up. She seemed to understand the weight of what he had just said. He shivered, overwhelmed with sudden guilt and elation in turn. Guardian Shenu _was_ wrong, and he was going to admit it. He was going to admit it for Guardia Zinnia's sake. So she wouldn't have to cry again.

For a long while, she just looked at him. Ushabti bore her scrutiny with terror and longing.

"I've been thinking of something," she said softly. "A new direction."

She shifted the books in her hands and took a deep breath, as if she was about to make a confession of her own.

"I know that I'm a poor excuse for a Guardian. I may be a Warlock, but I…it's no secret that I can't fight."

Ushabti waited while she considered.

"I've been trying to prove my worth every since I was Reborn. Maybe…maybe I've been going about it all wrong. Focusing on the wrong things. Maybe I can't be a fighter like Quarrel or Dane. But maybe I can be a scholar. If I just concentrate on that, on something I'm actually somewhat capable of, maybe the rest will come. And if it doesn't…" she let the sentiment trail off.

"Warlocks are scholars, but we're still Guardians," she said. "I can't expect to ever call myself a true Guardian without fighting. But for now, I can at least try to keep whatever scraps of dignity I still have by committing myself to study. Especially through study that helps other Guardians."

 **You mean the Void?** Ushabti asked.

"I'll have to keep up with that," she said. "What I really mean, though…Ushabti, I want to join the Cryptarchy."

Ushabti hoped his trill of surprise did not offend her. He simply had not expected that admission. Guardian Zinnia was not happy in the Archives. Didn't she know that she would be all but stuck there should she become a Cryptarch?

 **Um, that's a very noble aspiration** , he said. **But…why the Cryptarchy? Could you not, um, study under Guardian Shenu?**

As soon as he had asked the question, it occurred to him that she might be trying to leave Guardian Shenu's Mentorship. He fought down rising panic. No! She couldn't go! Guardian Shenu was not being fair to her, but…but how would he see her again?

"I will continue to study with him," she answered. "If he'll have me, I will."

Ushabti practically melted with relief.

"I also want to join the Vault Project," she went on. "The Cryptarchs are involved with it, and I can help them. I know I can. But only if I can show Master Rahool that I am truly committed. I'm no use on the battlefield, and Shenu isn't letting me join any fireteams for another Age, so I'm going to have to prove my worth on my own terms." As she spoke, her eyes lost some of that sorrow and took on a new determination.

"I'm going to ask Master Rahool soon," she said. "I won't take no for an answer."

She glanced at Ushabti, suddenly sheepish.

"Do…do you think I should do it?"

 **Yes!** he cried.

Guardian Zinnia smiled, all the reward he could ask for.

 **Yes** , he said, filled with happy resolve at her favor. **You should do it. And I will help you!**

That earned him an even bigger smile.

"Really?"

 **I'll help you study. I'll put in a good word to Master Rahool. Whatever it takes!**

She glanced at the door, bit her lip again.

"Shenu isn't going to like it," she said.

 **Guardian Shenu doesn't have to know** , Ushabti clicked, pushing down his guilt once more. **Um…at least not right away. For now, he…he can just assume you're still doing Cryptarchy penances!**

Guardian Zinnia nodded slowly, encouraged by this deception.

 **By the time he realizes what's going on, um, you'll have done such good work that he'll have to let you continue!**

Guardian Zinnia reached out and brushed one of his spines with the backs of her fingers.

"You're so sweet, Ushabti. Thank you for everything."

Ushabti dared to turn into her touch just a little, prolonging the moment. That alone was worth risking Guardian Shenu's wrath.


	36. Archon

**Do you really think Dane will let you give the NLS drive to Zinnia?** Ghost buzzed from the jumpship controls console. He was checking their route and engine statistics for what had to be the twentieth time in the past two hours. Quarrel stretched in the pilot seat, lengthening her legs as much as she could in the cramped cockpit. The jumpship shuddered now and again in light turbulence. Outside the windows she could see the wings skimming the tops of clouds, great masses of fluffy white that as yet couldn't decide whether they were going to bring storms to the sea below. The turbulence didn't bother her. The ship was in fine flying condition ever since Amanda Holliday had gotten hold of it. It had served her well in the Cosmodrome with Shenu and Zinnia, and it was serving her well on the way back there now.

"Of course not," she grinned at Ghost. "That's why I'm not telling him."

 **He'll find out eventually. Are you prepared to make an enemy?**

"Do you think it will come to that?" Quarrel asked, thinking she already knew the answer.

 **Dane doesn't like it when other people have ideas** , Ghost clicked. **He'll give you a drive so long as you're beholden to him. If you give it to Zinnia, he'll take it as a rebuff of his friendship. If you can call it that.**

"I can't control what he thinks," Quarrel said. "You think I shouldn't do this?"

 **I didn't say that. As nice as it would be to have our own drive, I think this is a good thing to do for Zinnia. And it might take some of the air out of Dane's overinflated ego, which I also won't argue with.**

She laughed. Ghost's vindictive streak never ceased to amuse her.

"He'll just have to deal with it," Quarrel grinned. "He never said what I had to do with the drive once he gave it to me."

 **I'm not even going to believe that he will give it to you until I see it happen myself.**

That possibility had occurred to her. She didn't relish a dangerous trip to the Cosmodrome even for such a promising reward as an NLS drive. To find that Dane wouldn't give it to her after all…well, hopefully their time together wouldn't let him sink so low. Dane was a handful, but he wasn't completely rotten. Besides, she rather liked hanging out with Guinefort and Gelert.

"I'll make him see reason," she assured Ghost.

 **Believe me, there's no reasoning with Hunters** , Ghost grumbled. She laughed again.

"Surely you know what makes them tick?"

 **That's easy: cloaks, knives, and doing foolish things like infiltrating heavily contested Dark Zones in small numbers for bragging rights and tech.**

"I don't like that part either," she said. "But I promise that at the first sign of trouble, we're out of there, whether we have the drive or not."

 **I trust you** , Ghost said. **It's Dane I worry about. I don't think he understands the risks we're running into. Small fireteams are great for stealth, but easy to overwhelm. But what do I know?**

"I'd say you know a lot, seeing as you were the original Cosmodrome infiltrator. And you were quite successful, if I may say so."

Ghost clicked and squinted at her.

 **You may.**

She laughed and tweaked his fin.

"I'll leave it to you to keep us on the straight and narrow."

 **What do you think I've been doing all this time?** Ghost sighed.

The comms panel chirruped.

 _/Okay, I've got another one!_ Guinefort's voice came over the intercom. If she looked out her window to the right, she could just see his ship in formation off her wing. _/What do you call a Warlock without a good idea?_

She pressed a button on her left armrest to answer.

"I'll bite. What?"

 _/Tolerable!_

Guinefort's chortling laugh filled the cockpit.

 _/You do know you can mute your comms, right?_ Gelert said. Her ship was ahead of theirs, piercing through the clouds with its sleek-nosed frame. Quarrel could just see the thrusters glowing in the distance, a bright spark of light to follow. _/ Don't laugh at his jokes even once, or he'll never stop!_

 _/ You act like you want me to go somewhere else_ , Guinefort admonished.

 _/ I can think of at least one fiery place, yes_ , Gelert shot back.

 _/ You'd be lost without me._

 _/ And so, so much happier…_

Those two could argue even more than Zinnia and Perdita. Despite Gelert's professed annoyance, she still kept close to Guinefort. Necessity of a close-knit fireteam, perhaps, but from the way they worked so effortlessly together, she didn't think it was nearly as big of a sacrifice as Gelert made it sound.

 _/If you haven't rested yet, I'd recommend it now_ , Dane advised. _/_ W _e've got about another hour 'til touchdown. Then it's game on._

 **I can take over if you want to sleep** , Ghost offered.

"Thanks, but I'm not tired."

 **Of course you're not. You only stayed up half the night wandering the Tower, that's all.**

She tweaked his fin again.

"Sounds like _you_ could use the nap."

Ghost shook his fins and clicked, a little sigh of resignation.

 **I'm sorry. I'm just nervous.**

"The Cosmodrome?"

 **Do you remember the Archon?** Ghost asked. **It might still be around. That it was guarding your ship in the first place was no coincidence. The Fallen keep an especially jealous hold on ships and flight technology.**

She did remember the Archon: massive, howling damnation.

"Could it be worse than a Wizard?" she asked.

 **Make no mistake** , Ghost buzzed. **An Archon is very bad. They have the command of the Captains and the Barons. They have the most Ether. They have long years of bloody conquests to get to that position.**

"Well, I have the Light and I have you. The Fallen had better not underestimate _that_." She gave his fin one last tweak. Ghost chirped doubtfully, but brightened up a little.

"I want that NLS drive if at all possible," she said, shifting to get comfortable in her chair again. "Dane's right: we have to take back what's ours from the thieves."

* * *

Quarrel and the Hunters stood at the drop point right at the edge of a ridge inside the bounds of the Cosmodrome. Behind them, the rock fell away to a dizzying drop into the icy moat that had formed around the derelict complex walls. Ahead lay the backside of the warehouse dock she had escaped from with her ship. In the distance to her left, the Mothyards. She shivered, glad for her scarf both because of the constant chill in the steppes and the familiar reminder of Ghost's presence. It was hard to be back here after what they'd gone through last time.

"Hey, I found Kinna's ship!" Guinefort said, looking out from their vantage point toward the dock complex. Quarrel could make out the tail of a jumpship that had plowed nose first into the snowy ground.

Gelert sighed. "Was that before or after our extensive scans indicating where to put our drop zone?"

"Come on, time's a-wasting," Dane said, shouldering his rifle.

 **I'm not picking up any signs of an NLS drive** , Ghost chirped as they began to walk toward the ship. He was at her shoulder, watching the proceedings with eager curiosity. Unlike her mission with Shenu, the Ghosts were allowed to roam freely today. Dane had laughed at her when she'd registered her surprise, saying any Ghost worth their fins knew not to get shot at — and that it was up to her to make double sure of that. She still couldn't decide if that was meant to be a jab at her or not. With Dane, it was hard to tell.

"The Fallen could have snagged it as soon as the ship was abandoned," Dane said.

"Are we going to try and pry it from them?" Quarrel asked.

"Yep!" Dane said, sounding pleased at the prospect. "The quicker we get there, the quicker we can find out."

Dane took the lead and gestured for them to follow. For all his bravado, he still stepped carefully, his head swiveling to keep tabs on everything that happened around him. Quarrel could hardly hear Gelert and Guinefort behind her except for a slight rustling of armor. Gelert was keeping to her tracks in the snow. They moved silently down the hillock they had landed on and between rock outcroppings carved out by wind and countless years of freeze and thaw. Ghost kept to her shoulder, scanning the landscape, occasionally clicking to himself. Tigris, Guinefort's Ghost, hovered by his shoulder. She bore a smooth purple shell, as sleek and dark as her Guardian's helm.

The ship was in a bad state. Whole sections of the hull were missing. Wiring and components spilled out in colorful snarls. Snow dusted the open cockpit. Gelert slipped ahead to check around the crash site for any Fallen. She reappeared by the exhaust ports where the tail fins jutted up into the air, shaking her head.

"We're clear."

"Oh, Kinna is not going to be happy," Guinefort clucked, inspecting the damage. "She loved this ship."

"More fool her for flying too near a couple of skiffs," Dane said, hopping up onto the wing and kicking aside broken glass. "She should have waited for us if she wanted to go nosing around the Cosmodrome."

" _You_ hardly waited for us," Gelert said.

"Ha!" Dane cried and wriggled headfirst behind the jumpseat. He seemed to be fishing for something wedged in the crushed frame. "Here it is!" He straightened up, holding a soggy, wadded piece of cloth.

Guinefort and Dane shared a good laugh. Dane shook out the cloth. A long cloak unfurled, rippling in the wind. It was a simple blue thing, with a few graceful arcs along its bottom edge in white. Or what would have been white were it not for the scorch marks and oil stains.

"I can't believe the Fallen didn't take this!" Dane crowed. "Oh, man! Kinna's going to wish they had!"

They laughed again. Dane draped the cloak over his arm. A few moments later, it was transmatted away, the work of his Ghost.

"A little tip, fresh meat," Dane said, turning to her as he balanced on the wing. "When you get your cloak, don't ever lose it!"

"Especially where another Hunter will find it," Guinefort added.

 **No NLS drive here** , Tigris chirped, emerging from a gash in the ship's belly. Her whispery voice sounded like tinkling chimes. Ghost trailed out behind her.

 **Most of the operating systems have been destroyed** , he said.

"Figures," Guinefort shrugged. "Ah, well. It was worth a shot. I just can't believe more isn't missing. The Hive must really be keeping the Fallen busy for them not to have picked this clean!"

"We're not done here," Dane reprimanded the Exo.

 **We did get some audio from the flight recorder** , Tigris said.

"Let's hear it," Dane commanded.

Tigris began playback. The recording was largely static, the tense one-sided dialogue of the pilot nearly incomprehensible.

"I hope you understood that, because it's just Kinna freaking out to me," Guinefort said once the recording was finished.

 **I think the main article of importance is the presence of a command center nearby** , Ghost offered.

Tigris chirped in agreement.

 **Kinna went to take a look at it before her extraction. Maybe we should do the same.**

"I don't see why," Dane grumbled. "We're looking for a drive, not mapping."

"A command center might have important tech," Quarrel offered. "Or maybe the Fallen who took the drive will have retreated to it."

Dane appeared not to have heard her, staring down at the ship. Finally he shrugged.

"Fine. Lead the way."

Tigris and Ghost turned their gaze toward a small outbuilding only a few yards away. Guinefort and Gelert were careful to keep themselves positioned on either side of her without ever looking like they meant to. Their apparent ease belied a keen awareness and tactical adjustment. And they still moved so quietly! She tried her best to mimic their soft footfalls. Already she felt out of practice from their hiding games in the provinces.

"Looks like more people than just Kinna have been here," Gelert murmured, looking at the ground. At least two sets of tracks stretched before them to the outbuilding and then from the outbuilding off toward the dock warehouse. Bootmarks, clean and neat, and nearly overlapping.

"Maybe some more scouts," Dane said. "A few are supposed to be in the area still."

"You think they took the drive?" Guinefort asked.

"They better not have!"

The outbuilding was little more than covering for a stairwell descending into the earth. A cold draft wafted up from the depths, rustling the Hunters' cloaks. Even through her armor Quarrel could feel the chill while they descended into the dark. Someone — maybe Kinna, maybe the Fallen — had set up lighting along the way so they weren't forced to move through pitch black. Like every structure she had been in throughout the Cosmodrome, the corridors were rimed with debris. Chunks of fallen concrete, plaster, rusted corrugated metal. Electronics and glass and trash — the leavings of an old life. She stepped carefully around a bit of flimsy plastic wrapper, tiny swatches of bright coloring left on it in a language she did not know.

The Ghosts stayed close by as their sightlines grew limited. They rounded a corner and found another set of stairs. At the bottom of those, a greenish light was pouring into the narrow hall. The air tasted musty through her filters. Where the sparse lighting touched, she could see mosses and stagnant pools of water. Dane made a hand sign indicating something to their right. The hallway let into a larger room filled with Golden Age data systems. The green glow was coming from this room, etching the ancient computers and machinery in eerie relief. Dane signed again: he was going inside, taking the right flank. Gelert gestured for Quarrel to take the middle, and she and Guinefort would go left. Quarrel nodded and slid her hand cannon from its holster. Ghost crowded so close to her shoulder she could feel his warmth through the scarf on her neck. He turned about cautiously, scanning each shadow like she was. The other three moved so silently she couldn't hear them at all, giving the strange sensation that she and Ghost were quite alone. It reminded her of that very first day, and she swallowed against a catch in her throat.

Movement to her left. Gelert and Guinefort. They nodded at each other. Dane appeared to her right a moment later. Two doorways opened at the green light's source. Guinefort ducked in and motioned the all-clear.

The light came from a huge vidscreen displaying what could only be a map. Tigris and Ghost perked up, hovering over the filthy controls. Even Dane's Ghost bestirred himself from Rest, his tough red shell looking like plated Titan armor.

"Leave it to Kinna to get her bearings first," Dane said. "If anyone can get a map on the run, it's her. This is cheating though," he added.

"Cheating?" Quarrel asked.

"Yeah. Normally she draws them from memory. This one's already been done up by the Golden Agers."

"Let's get this downloaded, yeah?" Guinefort said to Tigris. She clicked in agreement. All three Ghosts began to interface with the controls. Suddenly, Ghost disengaged, his eye turning to a gaping hole in the wall to their right.

 **Uh oh** , he buzzed. **We should make this quick. I'm detecting Hive signatures down those tunnels.**

Guinefort and Gelert both took a couple steps toward the hole.

"Hive, huh?" Guinefort mused.

"A lot of them?" Gelert asked at the same time.

 **Enough of them. And powerful.** Ghost's fins quivered in the glow.

Guinefort and Gelert exchanged another glance. The hair on the back of Quarrel's neck stirred. They weren't seriously thinking about engaging the Hive, were they? She took a step forward, ready to dash any such plans.

"Let's get the NLS drive first," Gelert said before she could speak. "Cayde's always going on about how you can never assume there's just one Thrall."

"That's not how he put it," Guinefort said. They both sounded far too casual for speaking about those monsters. "What did he say? Oh, yeah: The Hive are like potato chips — you can't have just one."

"How would he know?" Dane shook his head. "He doesn't eat. Anyways, I think he was talking about killing them."

"He'd know from watching you stuff your face," Guinefort chuckled.

Meanwhile, the Ghosts clicked and burbled at each other.

 **We've got the data** , Dane's Ghost announced. **It appears another Ghost has accessed this system since its revival.**

"Another Ghost?" Dane grunted. "Who?

 **Uncertain. It was recent, within the hour.**

"That explains the tracks," Gelert said.

"Polaris!" Dane growled."It has to be him! He actually came all this way to see if he could get the drive before us! Huh. Didn't think he'd actually take the bait."

"I told you not to say anything!" Gelert sighed. Dane ignored her.

Quarrel raised an eyebrow under her helm. Dane had sworn her to secrecy on the hunt so they stood a better chance to get the drive first. So much for that.

"Who's the other? Tory?" she asked.

"Who else?" Dane said.

"How did they get here so fast?"

"They already have drives, so they can jump to orbit. Unlike some people." Dane's censure for her ancient ship was obvious. He really didn't like having to neglect his own ship's capabilities simply to let her keep up.

 **According to this map, those tracks are headed right for Dock 13** , Ghost said.

"That's where I found my jumpship," Quarrel said.

"Sounds like a promising spot for a scavver," Guinefort mused.

"I don't know if there's anything left," Quarrel shrugged. "I didn't have a lot of time to look around before — oh, no! The Archon!"

"The what?" Dane sighed. "What are you talking about?"

"There was an Archon in Dock 13 when we found the ship!"

"An Archon? Seriously? I highly doubt that, fresh meat. Captains look pretty big to the uninitiated."

 **It was an Archon** , Ghost buzzed. **I saw it myself.**

"So what?" Dane grunted. "It's probably moved on by now."

"I hope so, for their sake," Quarrel said, looking back toward the stairwell.

"Well, what are we standing around for?" Dane snapped. "They've got the drive! Let's go get it!"

"You're going to take it from them?" Quarrel asked, disappointed. She hadn't signed up for a fight between Hunters over scrap.

"Of course I am!" Dane cried. "You know what Polaris is going to do with it? He's going to give it to Tory, who's going to turn around and sell it to Dead Orbit! Good luck ever getting that thing back from Jalaal!"

Before she could argue, Dane dashed up the stairs. Guinefort shrugged and followed him up, Gelert on his heels. Quarrel sighed and went after them. Outside, she blinked in the bright sunlight, feeling warm compared to the frigid chambers below ground.

 **Over there** , Ghost chirped, indicating a blown-open gash in the low warehouse. Dane took the lead again. They picked across the icy ground, following the neat tracks, skirting a large frozen pond nestled against the concrete walls. Dane was singleminded now, but Quarrel kept glancing over her shoulder. The Fallen did not seem to be active out in the open today. Maybe the Hive really had forced them to retreat and give up territory. Maybe she had just been supremely unlucky the day of her Rebirth.

Warped, rusted stairs that hardly looked like they would support a Ghost landing on the railing led up to the jagged hole in the concrete wall. The stairs held somehow, and she eyed the caved-in roof warily while they passed. Grasses and shrubs sprouted amid cracked tiles and concrete brick, giving the ancient room a garden look. More dark halls. More flickering lights and pools of water, bits of dormant Fallen tech and torn-up Golden Age salvage. Painted logos flaked off the damp walls. She saw a proud mural of ships in flight over hopeful, upturned faces. How many people had seen this same mural who were now cold bones on those colony ships above them? Was this the first time she had ever seen it herself?

She hadn't realized she'd stopped until Guinefort stood beside her.

"Feeling nostalgic?" he asked quietly.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Might as well take in the sights while you can," Guinefort said. "What's the point of going places if you don't stop and look around once in a while?"

"Just don't get your head blown off while you're gawking," Gelert added.

"Come on!" Dane urged, impatient to keep moving.

The floor of the next room was completely collapsed. Dane jumped lightly over the crater with a graceful utilization of Light. Quarrel's own landing was somewhat less beautiful, but at least better than any other attempt before. Gelert considered the jump, then sprinted forward. Just as Quarrel thought she too would boost herself through the air, she simply vanished. She jumped when Gelert reappeared right next to her. It was the same vanishing feat that Polaris had used in the Crucible.

"Show off!" Guinefort grumbled. "She does that every chance she gets."

"You're just sore you're not as good at it," Gelert retorted.

"Who needs to be good at a Warlock party trick?"

"The Warlocks don't use Blink to its potential," Gelert said. "That's why we borrowed it from them, so we can show them how it's done."

"Too bad they don't see it that way," Guinefort shrugged.

"No accounting for some people," Gelert agreed.

"Especially not Warlocks."

 **I've got Ghost signatures up ahead** , Ghost announced.

 **Two of them** , Tigris trilled. **Consistent with Ghost designations Ursa and Karma.**

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Dane said.

Quarrel recognized Dock 13 immediately. The same crumbling pillars, the same gaping hole in the roof. The snarl of docking cables had been cleared away — probably salvaged by the disappointed Fallen — but she would know this place anywhere. Her spine prickled when she saw the hole in the wall that the Archon had climbed out of, bellowing at her ship.

Polaris was squatting on his heels right in the center of the room. He had his helm off and was scratching a design in the dirt with a finger. He looked up when they entered and grinned.

"'Bout time! Ursa said there were more Guardian ships incoming. I was getting bored waiting for you!"

"What are you doing here?" Dane demanded.

"I could ask the same of you," Polaris said, dark eyes laughing.

"I'm getting my NLS drive," Dane snapped. "Where is it?"

"Lose something?" a voice called. Across the room, Tory stood in a small doorway. He held up a dusty device, a jumble of wiring and black casing.

"That's ours!" Dane growled. "You'd better hand it over!"

"Funny," Tory said, turning the case over in his hands. "I don't see your name on it."

"I wouldn't expect a Dead Orbit scav to understand," Dane scoffed. "That tech is for Guardians. I won't have you turning it over to the Arach."

"Good thing that's not where it's headed," Polaris said. "We've got another buyer all lined up."

"Kinna sent me to find this drive!" Dane growled. "It belongs to her!"

"That's not the story I heard," Polaris said.

"Kinna is already commissioning a new ship," Tory added.

Dane's hands tightened into fists at his side, stymied by the truth.

"Sorry, Dane," Tory shrugged. "You're just a little too late. Guess you'll have to drive faster next time." He cocked a finger at Quarrel, gave a little thumbs up.

"You're really going to sell it?" Dane protested.

"Well, I don't need an NLS drive," Tory said. "Do you, Polaris?"

"Nope."

"What was the offer?" Dane asked. "I bet I can do better!"

Polaris stroked his chin. Tory looked a little intrigued.

"Our employer was pretty strict about her terms…" Polaris mused. "I don't know that she'd accept fistfuls of glimmer as substitute for a drive."

"I'd hate to get on her bad side," Tory said with a little shudder.

"Oh, definitely. We'd never be safe," Polaris sighed heavily.

"She's got a _long_ memory for betrayal."

"Just ask the Cryptarch!" Polaris snickered.

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Dane snapped.

"Zinnia!" Quarrel gasped. She didn't know just how the little Warlock was involved, but she knew she had guessed right when Polaris beamed at her.

" _What?!_ " Dane cried. "You're giving the NLS drive to _Zinnia?!_ "

"Sure are!" Tory chirped.

"You're out of your minds! What the hell do you owe her?"

"I'd say one NLS drive," Polaris quipped.

 **Wait a minute** , Ghost clicked. **I want to check something out.**

He appeared from Rest before Quarrel could say anything and flitted over to Tory and Polaris. He began scanning the box in Tory's hand.

"What are you doing?" Tory asked. He tried to move the drive away from Ghost.

 **Something's not right with that drive** , Ghost said, following Tory's hand around.

"Looks like NLS to me!" Tory laughed, still trying to shake Ghost off.

 **Ah ha! I knew it! That's not even a ship component — it's an ammo canister with wires stuck in it! You just painted over it!** Ghost sounded scandalized.

"Aw come on, Ghost!" Polaris groaned, throwing up his hands.

"You ruined everything!" Tory pouted.

"We had a whole plan!"

"It took us hours to come up with!"

Ghost drew his fins down, supremely embarrassed.

 **Well…I…but…that's…it's so…!**

"So it's a fake?" Dane asked.

Quarrel began to laugh.

"So where's the real one?" she asked. "It's missing from Kinna's ship, so somebody has to have it."

"Not us," Polaris shrugged.

"Yet," Tory added.

"They were trying to throw us off the scent," Gelert said quietly. She was standing by Polaris' drawing, looking down at it thoughtfully. Quarrel stepped a little closer. It looked like a little maze, with a couple of circles and an X dotting the twisting trail.

"They were hoping we would leave with the fake so they could find the real one," Guinefort said, nodding slowly. "Clever."

"Haven't found it yet, huh?" Dane sneered. "Well, I'd wipe that grin off your face, starlight, because _it's on_."

"Actually, I think they have," Gelert said. She looked up, meeting Quarrel's eyes. A moment later, Quarrel understood.

"A map!" she grinned.

"Uh oh," Polaris said.

Gelert took off running across the room.

"Gelly!" Dane called. "What are you — hey!" He watched helplessly as Quarrel sped after her. Ghost zipped to her side.

"Come back here!" Tory cried. He chucked the fake NLS drive and took off running after them.

"Where is it?" Quarrel called ahead to Gelert. They were running through some very familiar looking corridors now, heading for the open area where she'd first seen Fallen ships.

"The Divide," Gelert said. "The dummy put a big X right where he hid it!"

"Hey! I'm not a dummy!" Polaris called behind them. "I just have a short memory!"

Gelert barreled out of the loading dock into the open. Quarrel's heart hammered with the excitement of the chase and the dread the familiar surroundings inspired. Gelert turned a hard right toward the chasm that once she had barely been able to see in the dark. It was a giant spillway coming right up against the building they had just left. Quarrel watched as Gelert launched herself out over the drop. Two bursts of her Light sent her hopping to a tiny ledge against the dock wall on the far side.

Quarrel skid to a stop, not wanting to attempt that jump herself. There wouldn't even be enough room on the ledge for both of them. Polaris slid to a stop beside her, Tory right behind him. Dane and Guinefort charged around the corner of the loading dock.

Gelert began to root about in the tangled shrubs clinging to the concrete and steel around her ledge.

"No!" Tory whined. "Have a heart, Gelert!"

"That'll be the day!" Polaris snickered.

Tory punched his arm.

"You seriously drew a map?" he cried.

"I was going to erase it!"

Gelert held up a small orange box.

"I guess you should have spent less time on trying to deceive us and more time getting back home with your prize," Dane crowed. "Well, I guess everything worked out all right in the end!"

"Oh, you're not leaving with that thing," Tory said.

Dane stepped up to him. "Try and stop me."

Their hands went to their knives.

"Take it easy guys —" Quarrel said.

Gelert sailed overhead, hit the ground, and began to run toward the loading dock. Tory made a move to follow and Dane jumped him. They began grappling and punching to do the Titans proud.

"Dane! Come on!" Guinefort called, standing at the loading dock door. "We've got it, let's just go! You too, fresh meat!"

Polaris looked at her across the fighting Hunters.

"Not gonna run?" he asked. Her answer was to haul on Dane's arm before he could slug Tory in the stomach.

"Stop it!" she cried.

"Let me go!" Dane snarled. He shoved her aside and lunged for Tory. He met Polaris instead. Now all three were going at it.

"Aw, hell!" Guinefort sighed.

"Guinefort! Dane!" Gelert's voice came through terse on their helm comms. "We've got Fallen in here! Hurry!"

"Coming!" Guinefort cried. He took off running, the fight forgotten. Quarrel drew her hand cannon and fired into the air. The Hunters stopped mid-swing.

"Fallen at the dock!" she growled. "Move!"

Polaris swore and scrambled to his feet, running for the loading dock. Tory struggled after him. Dane brushed the snow off his armor, adjusted his cloak.

"Good for you, Gelly," he said. "Making a distraction!"

"This is no distraction, Dane!" Guinefort cried. "We need you guys in here now!"

Dane swore even worse than Polaris.

"Come on, fresh meat!"

She locked eyes with Ghost. He chirped and went to Rest. They charged back into the building.

Quarrel entered the old ship dock right in front of Gelert and Tory tackling a Vandal. The two Hunters skewered it between them just as she readied her hand cannon. Further back in the room, Polaris and Guinefort were darting out of cover to fire at a group of Dregs trying to flank them around a pillar. Polaris still hadn't been able to put his helm on. It had been kicked across the floor in the fighting, lying against the wall with the giant hole. His long, skinny braids flew as he twisted and dodged, fending off Dregs that tried to run in pairs and drag him down. The Guardians were outnumbered at least two to one. In the time they had been fighting each other for the drive, the Fallen had managed to sneak up on them.

Gelert and Tory joined Quarrel and Dane. The four swept through the room, corralling the Fallen with gunshots and Light grenades. Guinefort and Polaris understood what they were about and began to tighten the noose, bringing their Fallen in closer to the center of the room until they were standing nearly back to back, surrounded by the Guardians on all sides. It seemed like everywhere Quarrel looked there was a knife flashing or a cloak flaring as the Hunters ducked in and out of the circle, harrying the Fallen until they were enraged and broke away from their fellows, only to be taken down by a bullet to the skull or a knife to the throat.

The last Vandal fell, screaming rage. Its armor was nearly as chewed up as a Dreg's, the ends of its red cloak severely torn. These Devils had not been having a good time of it in the Cosmodrome lately. Quarrel looked around anxiously as the others caught their breath and surveyed the room. Were the Hive going to come for them too?

"We should retreat to the drop zone before reinforcements arrive," Gelert panted.

"It's too late for that," Guinefort said. "Tigris says they're coming from that direction."

"And from ahead," Polaris said grimly, nodding toward the exit to the Divide.

"Can we make a stand in here?" Tory asked.

 **Oh, why didn't I pay attention?** Ghost groaned.

Quarrel glanced at the hole in the wall. Maybe…

"Ghost, where does that hole lead?"

He buzzed and chirped, understanding her idea.

 **Let me check it out!**

Quarrel followed him over as he flew up to inspect it.

"Be careful," she murmured. "Remember what crawled out of there last time. Let me go first."

It wasn't too high up for her Light to reach. She gathered her strength and bounded up into the hole. The round opening was large enough to allow her to stand at nearly full height. The tunnel was not terribly long. A bright circle of sunlight shone from the far end. Ghost floated up beside her and darted forward.

 **I don't see anything in here except water and silt. It looks like the grate was removed…yes! We could get through here!** He turned to look at her, fins spinning joyfully.

"I think we have a way out!" she called to the others.

A massive hand shot through the sunlit opening. Quarrel grabbed for Ghost, her gauntlets closing around his fins just before the thick claws reached him. She had the impression of fine armor plating on the back of the monstrous hand, and then she was scrambling back out of the tunnel, dropping in a graceless heap to the ground below.

 **Wow! That was close!** Ghost trilled, back at Rest. Quarrel pushed herself to standing. A familiar bellow shook the air.

"What was that?" Dane yelled.

"The Archon!" Quarrel growled, scrambling backward on her hands.

 **It's in the walls!** Ghost cried.

The nightmare figure from her Rebirth had returned. Sliding its bulk through the tunnel, the Archon crawled its way out like a spider, terrifyingly agile for something so enormous. Dane and Polaris both swore.

The Archon gazed down at them, talons gripping the concrete, massive head swiveling. It was even worse than she had remembered. The red eyes on its helm pierced the gloom, the tubes dripping from its shoulders brushing a heavy fur collar. It spoke to them. Its rumbling voice turned to a roar that reverberated off the walls. She stared up at it, unable to move. The claw was tearing at her throat.

"Run, newbie!" Tory yelled.

The Archon dropped to the ground. Quarrel rolled and scrambled to her feet, only to be swept up in the air by her legs. She dangled like a rag doll in the Archon's grasp. It held her in front of its red eyes, each one burning a wicked gleam. It laughed at her struggling, drew a claw along her scarf, pressed the point into her neck. It began to squeeze its fist. Her shinbones creaked.

Through her cry of pain she heard gunfire. The Archon bellowed. Then she was flying through the air, high up into the room. Her back hit a metal crossbeam and it nearly put her out. She clawed desperately and somehow managed to wrap her arm around a support strut high up on the pillar she had hit. She hung helplessly in the air, perilously close to blacking out. Ghost was hollering in her head. With the last bit of her strength, she swung a leg up and clambered onto the beam. She just needed to get her bearings, just needed to stop the throbbing in her legs…

Ghost's healing helped clear her head some. Quarrel heaved for breath and watched stunned as Polaris and Tory, Gelert and Guinefort, all dodged around the gigantic Fallen, worrying it like tiny songbirds around an eagle. The Archon was already bleeding. Thick, blackish rivulets streamed down its powerful legs. It was also laughing, amused by the audacity of the Hunters. It carried a heavy rifle in two of its muscular arms. The piece was so large, even Lord Shaxx would have had difficulty hefting it. It fired with thunderous booms, launching shrapnel shot like a canon blast. She watched in horror as Polaris nearly had his left leg torn completely off by one shot. The Hunter hit the ground hard. The Archon raised its taloned foot high, ready to crush him.

Tory leaped in front of Polaris. He was ablaze with fire, his entire body engulfed in blinding solar Light. Quarrel saw the flash of a very familiar flaming weapon in his palms. The Golden Gun!

Tory dove to escape being trampled by the Archon's powerful stomp, shoving Polaris as he went. His first shot went wide, the golden bullet searing into the concrete wall behind the Fallen. If he hadn't stopped to save Polaris, the shot would have certainly connected. If he hadn't stopped, Polaris might never rise again. The Archon would have certainly tried to grab his Ghost, and it would have been instantly crushed in the Fallen's greedy hands.

Tory whipped around. His second shot glanced the Archon's side. The bullet left a smoking, molten trail in its armor. The Archon clapped one hand to its side. Tory dove again to avoid sharing Polaris' fate with the rifle. Polaris was dragging himself behind Quarrel's pillar, his leg already knitting together.

Tory's third shot struck the rifle. The thing exploded in a spray of molten shrapnel and ash. The Archon wailed, clawing at itself, the embers burning where it touched soft spots between its armor. Its hands were badly damaged. The smell of charred flesh reached Quarrel's respirators. The solar Light surrounding Tory winked out. He scrambled behind the pillar with Polaris. The enraged Archon bellowed and began to stalk toward them, gnashing and cursing in its thick tongue. Tory was helping Polaris to his feet. They both looked up, watching their doom approach.

Quarrel fired from her perch, hand cannon bucking in her palms. Gelert and Guinefort leaped forward, simultaneously crackling with the Blade Dance. Dane stood his ground, firing systematically up at the Archon's helm, aiming for the red eyes, each shot sparking against the hard armor. The Archon bellowed and shook its head, turning and making a swipe for Dane. Guinefort and Gelert swarmed the beast, dancing up its torso, blades slashing in a whirlwind of sparks, twisting away when the huge grasping hands got too close. The Archon spun and spat, stomping massive feet and wailing its anger. Guinefort and Gelert landed beside the pillar, their Light spent.

"Go! Go!" Tory yelled at them, pointing toward the doorway she and Dane's crew had come in by. "Fight together to the outside!" He looked up at Quarrel, waving desperately. She nodded, readying herself to jump down.

Dane cried out and narrowly avoided being snatched up by the Archon. Forced to move by the monster's rage, he was now separated from them all. He shot his hand cannon dry, whipped open and reloaded the chamber so fast his hands were a blur. The Archon raised a fist, ready to bring it down on the Hunter's head.

Quarrel hurled herself from the strut before she could even think about what she had planned. She fell straight onto the Archon's helm and grabbed hold of the long tubes snaking around its neck and mouth. Shock dagger in hand, she drove the point of the blade into the space beneath the Archon's jaw. The Archon snarled and swiped at her. She wrapped her legs around its neck and stabbed again, missing her mark as the Archon lurched, puncturing a tube's thick wall. The breached tube popped and hissed, black gas spewing into her visor. The Archon's growls turned to a sharp whine. Again and again she stabbed. One of the Archon's fists hit her square in the side, dislodging her from her perch. She kept her hold on the blade, wrenching it through thick, corded tendons as she fell. The dagger caught against the Archon's fur collar and she was dangling again, whipped back and forth by its rage. She grabbed another tube for purchase. It came free from the helm and disgorged a thick spray of gas, coating her completely. A cloying, sweet scent choked the air out of her helm. She gasped, dizzy from the Archon's struggle and the overwhelming cloud.

She felt huge fingers grip her round the middle. She was wrenched from the Archon's neck, the dagger slipping from her palms. Without thought, she turned to fire, her Light surging up. The Archon howled and squeezed its fist. Her ribs collapsed first — an agony of terrible, grating crunches. She would have cried out, but her lungs were punctured by her own splintered bones. Her mouth gaped soundless, trying to call for Ghost. Far below her, Dane burned in his own Light, raising the beautiful fiery gun to the Fallen.

A great crack. Her spine snapped.

* * *

Music, distorted. As heard from a great distance, or maybe underwater.

* * *

"— are you a Ghost or aren't you?! Just Revive her already!"

 **I know, I know! I'm going to! Just hang on, I — yes! I've got you! I've got you! Yes! It's okay! I did it! I did it! You're okay!**

* * *

Quarrel gasped, sucking in cold air without a respirator, feeling like she could never take in enough. Ghost hovered above her, staring straight into her eyes just like the very first time.

"There she is!" Polaris cried, above and to her right.

"Hey! All right, newbie!" That was Tory, to her left.

 **I did it!** Ghost was beside himself with delight. **I did it! I brought you back! I really did it!** His fins spun like a motor.

She turned her head and saw Guinefort staring down at her, her shocked face reflected in his visor's smooth curve.

"Welcome back!"

"The Archon..?" she croaked.

"Is dead," Tory said, and pinched her cheek. "You did it, newbie! You killed him!"

She winced. The pain shocked her out of numbness.

Ghost washed scan after scan over her, chirping and buzzing happily.

 **No lingering injuries or traces of Ether poisoning, heart rate in normal parameters, oxygen levels acceptable, everything in its proper place…!**

Two hands thrust into her field of view, one each from Gelert and Guinefort. She slipped her shaking hands into theirs. They hauled her to her feet and caught her when she swayed.

The Archon lay motionless a bare few meters from where they stood. Its front was covered in black ichor and smoking ash. A cloud of black gas was slowly dispersing above its corpse.

"It's dead?" she asked, incredulous.

"As a doornail!" Polaris chuckled. "Thanks to you!"

"M-me…?"

It was hard to remember just what had happened. She had a vision of grappling with the dagger in the Archon's neck, a memory of terrible pain.

"Well, with some help from us," Tory shrugged.

"Some," Polaris amended.

Dane was standing a little ways off from the group, his arms crossed.

" _Some?_ " he scoffed.

"You opened that sucker's throat as easy as gutting a fish!" Tory grinned at Quarrel. "With that and all his Ether leaking out from those damaged hoses, it was no problem for the rest of us to take him down!"

"Especially after he got distracted by killing you," Guinefort added, his voice as merry as the others.

"Yeah! Good plan, if you ask me!" Tory said.

"I…I died?"

"Sure did!" Guinefort patted her shoulder. "Don't feel bad. It's not like it's the first time! Heh, it certainly won't be the last."

"Happens to us all," Tory nodded sagely. "Besides, your death came with a particularly awesome story."

"Uh, a _ridiculously_ awesome story," Polaris grinned.

"As in, the Hunter's Lounge is totally buying us drinks for the next month." Tory rubbed his hands gleefully.

"Hell, for the next Age!"

Quarrel stared at the dead Archon, trying to sort everything out.

"Uh…but it…I…I got crushed?"

"Pfft!" Tory waved a hand dismissively. "We don't have to tell it like that!"

"Yeah!" Guinefort said. "You gotta make sure your story sounds good."

"Not lying, mind you," Polaris added hastily. "Just making sure the telling doesn't interfere with the glory."

"Right," Guinefort agreed.

"You weren't merely crushed," Tory explained, waving his hands in the air as he searched for words. "You were fighting for every inch of blade, twisting it in while the Archon squeezed in its death throes."

"Your dagger sank deeper and deeper into its throat," Guinefort added, "until it gasped its last as your head flew off!"

Gelert sighed.

Quarrel swayed again.

"My head came off?!"

"No, not really!" Guinefort laughed.

"But _they_ don't know that!" Tory said.

"Who…?" she asked weakly.

"The Hunters we're gonna tell this to at the party, of course!" Polaris cheered. "This calls for a celebration, newbie! You killed an Archon!"

She met Ghost's bright blue gaze.

 **That's right!** he chirped.

"The other Fallen!" she said, suddenly panicked, remembering the net closing around them.

"They ran off when the Archon kicked the bucket," Polaris assured her. "Those that didn't were sent packing."

 **You were out for a little while** , Ghost clicked. **I, uh, wanted to make sure I did things right.**

"All right, hooray for us," Dane said. "We should get out of here!"

"Agreed," Tory said. There were no protests from the rest of the group.

Dane stalked toward the entryway then stopped, his back stiffening.

"Where's the drive?"

"Transmatted it to my ship," Gelert said.

"Nice work. "Let's move."

Tory and Polaris helped Quarrel walk out. Whatever they felt about losing the drive, they weren't in the mood to argue any further. She wanted to apologize to them, wanted to tell them that she had every intention of gifting the drive to Zinnia. But they would find out soon enough when she did just that. In the meantime, Dane wouldn't erupt in the middle of the Cosmodrome upon learning of her plans.

It still felt rotten watching them transmat to their ships empty handed.

* * *

The landing sequence's alert chimes woke her. Quarrel groaned, struggling up from an uncomfortable sprawl across the pilot seat.

 **Rise and shine!** Ghost chirped, far too cheery for her fatigue to handle. **We're just a few minutes from the Hangar!**

She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. When she removed them, Ghost was sending a scan over her. It had to be the fifth one since she'd boarded the ship. She shot him a look and he twitched his fins sheepishly.

 **Just making sure everything is in the right place.**

"Believe me, I'll let you know if something isn't," she grunted. She twisted around to grab her survival pack she'd stowed in the jumpseat. A little orange box was sitting on top of it. She stared. It couldn't be…!

"Ghost, is that what I think it is?" she asked.

Ghost clicked curiously, hovering over her shoulder.

 **That's the NLS drive! But how did it get here?**

"I thought Gelert took it?" Quarrel frowned.

 **Me too. Well…I guess we should just hang on to it, huh? Seeing as it's ours now anyway!**

She stowed it in her pack as the ship lined up with the Hangar bay. The setting sun cast long shadows across the launch floor. Ghost returned to the console, helping her keep an eye on the autopilot. She was getting used to these landings, but she definitely didn't want a repeat of the first.

She met Guinefort and Gelert inside the Hangar. The two had landed minutes before her. Dane was nowhere to be seen.

"He's a little upset," Guinefort said, shaking his head. "It appears Gelly misplaced the drive."

"Transmat can be tricky." Gelert shrugged.

Quarrel went to open her pack to show them it hadn't been lost. Gelert put a hand over hers and Guinefort chuckled.

"Better get that to Polaris quick," he said. "If Dane gets it, he won't be giving it to anyone but the highest bidder."

Quarrel grinned.

"Thanks, you guys."

"Aw, shucks. I just want to be invited to the party tonight," Guinefort said. Gelert gave him a withering look.

"You'll be guests of honor," Quarrel said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put this where it belongs."


	37. Deal

The Cryptarchy Novices stared at Quarrel as she strode through the Archives. Stare they should — she hadn't even changed before leaving the Hangar to find Zinnia. She was covered in Fallen blood and that gaseous Ether, which tended to leave purplish stains. She was sure she didn't smell great either.

Zinnia stared too when she found her. The Warlock was at her desk, for once actually doing work, scribbling away at some forms. Her green eyes widened at the mess on Quarrel's armor, her expression flashing through surprise and then what looked like regret. She stowed her pen in the ink pot, not noticing her vestment sleeve marring her writing on the page.

"I've got something for you," Quarrel said.

"I messed up again," Zinnia sighed at the same time.

The blinked at each other, hesitating.

"Sorry. You first," Quarrel said.

Zinnia twisted her hands in her sleeves.

"I had a present for you, but it got lost," she said glumly. "Typical, huh? I guess I will just have to say sorry the old fashioned way."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Quarrel said firmly. "I should be apologizing to you. What happened to Ghost wasn't your fault. I was just scared. And a jerk."

Zinnia shrugged, still twisting her sleeves.

"You weren't yourself," she said. "I'd have done the same if it were Perdita."

"Maybe, but that doesn't excuse what I said." Quarrel unslung her pack from her shoulder and opened it. "So, if you'll forgive me for stealing your idea, I actually have a present for you."

She placed the orange NLS drive on the desk. Zinnia frowned at it, uncertain what it was.

"Polaris came through," Quarrel said.

"Is that a drive?!" Zinnia yelped, loud enough to echo in the grand chamber.

"Sure is," Quarrel grinned.

"But how did you…Polaris said it was lost!" Zinnia gaped at her. Then she straightened up, crossing her arms in front of her chest and leveling her with a suspicious look.

"You went with him!" she said, shaking her head incredulously. "I didn't even think of that!"

"Actually, I went with Dane," Quarrel admitted.

"I didn't think of that either!" Zinnia sighed.

"I know you sent Polaris after the drive," Quarrel said. "But what I don't know is why."

Zinnia looked surprised.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "It was for you!"

Now it was her turn to frown.

"Why? I've been…you know…"

"You need a jumpship that can break orbit," Zinnia said. "I knew where to get a drive. I wanted to make things up to you," she finished, shy once more.

This again. Why did Zinnia think it was all her fault?

"Zinnia, there's nothing to make up. I was wrong."

"I could have done better," Zinnia said quietly.

"Zinnia —"

"No, I mean it," Zinnia cut in, strangely urgent. "I know that I'm not very good in the field. I know that I should work harder."

"There's more to fireteams than fighting," Quarrel sighed. "Believe me, I've learned that the hard way. Don't sell yourself short. I'd never be where I am without you."

Zinnia looked away at the tall window by her desk.

"I'm going to be spending a lot more time with the Cryptarchy," she said after a few moments. "I've decided I really want to join them." She looked back at Quarrel, green eyes fervent. "But, um…do you think you could teach me some stuff about fireteam strategy? Maybe I could join you on patrol sometimes?"

"You can always join me," Quarrel said. "You don't need to ask."

Zinnia smiled.

"This is all wrong," Quarrel laughed. "I'm supposed to be asking if you'll run with me! Will you?"

"Can I make fun of Dane?" Zinnia asked hopefully.

"As much as you want."

The Warlock's eyes gleamed.

"Take the NLS drive," Quarrel said. "It's yours now."

"Nuh uh," Zinnia said.

"What? Why not?"

"I don't have a ship," Zinnia shrugged.

"So hold onto it until you get one!"

"No! I got it for you!"

"I'm giving this drive to you whether you want it or not!" Quarrel said, hands on hips.

They stared each other down.

"How about we split it?" Zinnia suggested.

"How does that work?"

"If I give _my_ drive to you, then you have to let me ride in _your_ ship."

Quarrel grinned.

"Deal. Let's just call it _our_ ship."

They shook hands on it.

"I hope you're free later tonight," Quarrel said. "There's a big party, and I won't go if you won't."

"A party?" Zinnia was delighted. "What for?"

"It's a long story. I'm sure you'll hear all about it tonight. Every embellished detail…"

* * *

For all her calm demeanor and gentle voice, Ikora Rey was a very hard person to be around. There was just something about the Warlock Vanguard that made Quarrel want to stand up a little straighter and wipe any foolish smiles off her lips. It was much the same feeling with Commander Zavala, whose imposing presence had already been the herald of a litany of her wrongdoings over her short Rebirth. Even good humored Cayde was of little comfort at the moment. He watched her with keen blue eyes, arms crossed and leaning against the long table in the Vanguard Hall while she relayed the story of the Archon.

She could feel Tory and Polaris standing behind her, just as fidgety under the eyes of the three Vanguard leaders. Beside them stood Gelert and Guinefort, only slightly more at ease. The Hunters didn't like coming to the Hall, but they had overcome that dislike in order to be present when Quarrel told of her triumph. Their triumph. It seemed Hunters would put up with a whole lot of discomfort if it meant the chance to revel in a good story. All of them were freshly dressed, looking their best for a formal report.

Ghost hovered at Quarrel's shoulder, his shimmering hum a familiar comfort. Every now and again his fins would twitch. She was certain he was as nervous as she felt.

Quarrel paused, trying to find a good way to say what came next. This was no time for boasting. The colorful phrasing her friends had come up with about the fight was amusing, but would be petty in a Vanguard report. That same colorful phrasing did make her rash decisions sound much more palatable, though.

"I engaged the Archon with a knife to its neck, jumping onto its shoulders and cutting through the Ether supply on its helm," she said. Cayde's eyebrow plates climbed. Ikora's thoughtful frown twitched. Zavala merely inclined his head a hair, as if he wanted to nod. In approval? She hoped so.

"The diversion was enough for the others to take it down. I…was indisposed. Um, killed," she finished lamely.

Cayde snorted, echoed by Tory behind her.

She pressed on, hoping to breeze past the discomfort of her death. It was hard enough to admit that she had been done in. It was also difficult to wrap her mind around. She had _died_. Again.

"Guardian Gelert had stowed the NLS drive in safety on her ship —" no sense getting into the bickering — "and after that, it was decided we would extract and return to the Tower."

She glanced between the Vanguard.

"That's everything. I think."

Ikora tapped a finger against her lips. Cayde looked between Gelert and Guinefort. Commander Zavala spoke first.

"A triumphant return, indeed," he said, his deep voice softer than his icy eyes. "We have heard Dane's report, and it matches yours. Mostly."

Quarrel tried not to fidget. Dane was the only one who wasn't here. He'd probably figured out by now that he was never getting the drive. Apparently that wasn't sitting well with him.

"I admit I had my doubts about the…validity…of this mission," Zavala said, choosing to brush by the disparity. "It seems nothing short of being thrown in the brig is going to keep you from the Cosmodrome for long." Quarrel held her breath, waiting for the punishment. He'd said she could go with experienced Guardians, but oh, she'd known she was taking a risk by actually going. Especially after the disaster of her last mission.

"However, another NLS drive recovered is always a victory. And I must say, taking out an Archon is something I couldn't have hoped for in my wildest dreams. Very well done." He addressed that last to all of them.

Quarrel almost asked Zavala to repeat himself. Was he praising them?

"Indeed," Ikora murmured. "The Light is strong with you, instincts are sharp. You all have done a very great service for the City today."

"And now the hard part is out of the way, what with your first resurrection," Cayde said. Of course he would bring that up. It must have been a Hunter thing. Tory snorted again.

"Ghost did very well," Quarrel said, glancing at her companion. "I didn't even realize what had happened until it was over."

"Your Ghost has always been a quick study," Ikora said.

Ghost gave a happy chirp and glanced away, suddenly self-conscious.

"I have to give credit where it's due," Quarrel said, gesturing to the Hunters behind her. They were all standing a little more at ease now that there was no yelling coming. "Without their guidance and support, I surely would have been lost. I owe much to Dane too." she added. He may have been a double-crossing stick in the mud, but she couldn't forget that he'd fought to save her all the same.

"We are pleased you were all able to guide a new Guardian so well in such dangerous circumstances," Commander Zavala said.

"Those Hunters are some of my best and brightest," Cayde said smoothly, as though he had personally overseen their Rebirths.

Tory and Polaris both stood taller, chests puffing and satisfied smiles growing.

"Get that drive to Holliday, new kid," Cayde said. "The sooner you can get to orbit, the sooner we can send you in to clear out Luna."

She blinked in surprise, unsure if he was being serious. Cayde didn't seem to mind the ambiguity.

"All in due time," Ikora said firmly. "For now, your commendations are officially noted. Get some rest. You've earned it."

* * *

Rahool shut the study door behind him and dropped a stack of books and papers onto his desk. At last. He breathed a sigh of relief, a little easier now that his blasted cold was dwindling away, and pulled up Tower intranet on his datapad. A pot of tea was in order, right away. He'd get the tray delivered from the kitchens and maybe find a couple of things to nibble on while reading. Such as the little tin of cookies Riva had brought in this morning. They were a favorite of his, a shortbread confection from the City that he remembered from his very first nights within the Walls. He helped himself to a couple while shrugging out of his heavy winter robe. Now that he was officially off duty, he could just make do with waistcoat and shirtsleeves.

He pushed back his cowl and sighed again, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. Blessed Light of the Traveler, how could he be so tired? There was so much work left undone, and he felt like he had left his bed an Age ago. The meetings with the Foundry residents had really taken what energy he'd had out of him. A stack of tenancy contracts thicker than the complete Pahanin Errata was waiting for him to peruse, and he could only imagine how upset Hideo was going to be once he'd gone through them and offered his suggestions for change. If these contracts were anything like they had been in the past, there was no room for his suggestions in New Monarchy's plans for the Foundry district. The renovations would stall, again, and more meetings would ensue.

Of course, that was why the residents had enlisted his help. The longer this took, the longer they got to keep their houses. He didn't have the heart to tell them that he didn't know how much longer he could help. One day, the Monarchy would grow weary. One day, they'd find a way around him.

No matter now. He was going to try and put those damnable contracts out of his mind and wind down actual Cryptarchy business for the evening.

Before long, the tea was ordered and he was seated at his desk, carefully filing away the various reports he'd fallen behind on and contenting himself with the menial but necessary busywork of his position. It was, he decided, the closest thing to a day off that he could get to at this point. Somebody had to keep this blasted place running, with all its moving parts and far-flung projects. The more fool him for putting the job on himself.

He was only a few minutes into his work before the doorpad chimed. That was unusually fast service for the kitchens, even for a quick pot of tea. As he was wondering about it, the chime sounded again. Getting to his feet, he snatched up his robes and cowl. Really, he needn't put them on to receive the staff, yet he didn't want to just wear the cowl. He couldn't stoop to the ridiculous! And leaving the cowl off was not an option. One look at the old scar always made people full of questions he did not feel like answering, now or later.

He opened the door. Zinnia smiled up at him, holding onto a tray.

"Room service!"

"What's all this?" he asked, looking dubiously at the tray. It was far more than just tea.

She bustled past him into the study.

"Do come in," he sighed.

Zinnia went straight to the desk and set the tray down right on top of his files.

"More penances in the kitchens?" he asked.

"No!" Zinnia said, starting to blush. "This was my idea."

Oh, Blessed Light. That was no comfort at all. What had she hidden in the food this time? He lifted the patterned cloth covering the tray. Aside from the teapot, there was a covered bowl of soup and a couple of scones heaped to the side. They looked like lemon.

"I was in the kitchens when your order arrived," Zinnia explained. "So Mistress Ella and I decided to make you a proper dinner!"

Of course she had conspired with the cook. This girl's life mission was, apart from pushing back the Darkness, to report on his every doing to that meddling woman. And Ella absolutely adored Zinnia for it.

Zinnia beamed at him so happily, he tried to put on a grateful smile. It was likely a rather poor one.

"Oh. That's…well, all right. Thank you."

"Are you feeling any better?" Zinnia asked. He held up a hand before she could start feeling his temperature again.

"I'm quite better now," he said. "I'm sure the soup will help." There. That sounded like he would eat it, and that ought to send her on her way.

Zinnia didn't move. Instead she watched him expectantly.

"Is there something else?" he asked warily.

"Ella said to make sure you took a bite."

The Darkness take that cook! The Darkness take this blasted little Warlock!

"Oh, for Light's sake!" he groaned. Zinnia laughed.

"She said you'd be stubborn! She said you barely eat at all!" Her green eyes fell on the cookies on the desk and her expression went even brighter.

"Ella says many things," he grumbled. He lifted the lid off of the soup. It was still steaming hot, and it smelled wonderful. Truth be told, he was a little more hungry than an appetite just for sweets.

"How about I promise to eat after I get settled at home?" he hedged. "I haven't even been through the front door yet!"

"Light! Good to know. For a minute there, I thought you lived here!"

"Ah. Well. There are days it certainly feels that way." He sniffled and fished for his handkerchief. He couldn't wait for the day he wouldn't need twenty of them shoved in his pockets.

Zinnia gave him a pitying look.

"Maybe I should have Perdita give you one more scan."

"Ah, no. That's not necessary," he said around blowing his nose. "Really, just a day or two more and I'll be fine."

"Maybe you should take some time off tomorrow," Zinnia suggested, hopping onto the edge of the desk and drumming her heels against the side. She wasn't leaving any time soon, was she?

"One would think you're trying to get rid of me. What are you up to?"

Her vivid green eyes opened wide, a look of surprised innocence.

"Master Rahool!" she protested. "Have I given you any reason to doubt me?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and she flushed again.

"Lately?" she amended. "Katilyn and Riva think you work too hard, and that's why you got sick in the first place. The more rest you can get, the faster you'll be well! I'm just trying to help!"

Somehow, he still wasn't convinced. One could never be too careful around Zinnia. It was a lot like dealing with Cayde. Light, they could teach each other a thing or two about making people paranoid! He cut to the chase.

"What do you want, Zinnia? You have the night off." Her blush went even deeper. He had caught her, all right. She never was a very good liar. "Are you so bored that you've come to me looking for extra work? I do have loads of archiving just waiting for anyone with idle hands."

Zinnia shrugged and traced the teapot handle with a slim finger. The pot was one of Ella's more fanciful collections, fashioned like a fish, the spout an open mouth and the tail curving into a handle.

"I am very busy," she said. "I really want to go to bed right now. Shenu's training exhausts me, and it's been a long, long week." Her green eyes didn't lose their mischievous twinkle, but she definitely had a subdued cast to her. No, it wasn't that…she was anxious. Nervous about something. Hedging around her point. He waited her out.

"I want to ask you something, but you have to promise you won't laugh," she said. Her expression grew serious.

"Go on."

"You promise?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Light! Yes, I promise!"

Zinnia's fingers twisted in her vestment sleeves. She was definitely nervous. Perhaps he ought to take a seat as well…

She watched him a few moments, as though assessing whether he would break her trust or not.

"I want to join the Cryptarchy," she announced suddenly.

He blinked in surprise. Had he heard that right?

"I beg your pardon?" he asked.

"I said I want to join the Cryptarchy. I want to take the test and Apprentice. Whatever it is I need to do to become a full member." She glared at him now, daring him to say something against her wishes. Suddenly he understood her nerves. She was steeling herself for his rejection. He opened his mouth, couldn't think of anything to say, and then laughed.

Zinnia's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, her lips pursed in a tight line. He could almost see her curly red hair bristling in its bun.

"Hey! You said you wouldn't laugh!"

"I'm sorry!" he chuckled.

Zinnia hopped up from the desk.

"Oh, forget it! Forget I even asked!" she huffed.

"No!" he cried, still catching his breath. "No, no…sit down, girl! Blessed Light, I didn't mean any offense!"

She eyed him suspiciously. Then, with great dignity in her small frame, she glided behind the desk and sat in his chair.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"You don't see the humor?" he snorted. "Only weeks ago, you couldn't wait for your appointed penances to be up in the Archives. And now you want to Apprentice!"

"So? Things change. What's the big deal?"

"What, indeed?" he asked, fixing her with a stern look. Unfortunately, he already knew that she would not be cowed by this glare that worked so well on his Novices. "This is a rather sudden change of heart."

"I've been thinking about it for a while now!" she insisted.

"And your timing has nothing to do with the official Vault Project announcement to the Vanguard?"

Her mouth pinched to a scowl. Ah ha! Now the soup and scones, the personal delivery, were making more sense.

"I would be lying if I said that wasn't a factor in my decision," she said slowly.

"A factor?" he echoed. Ha! That was an understatement!

"I also realized that if I am going to spend so much time with the Cryptarchy that I might as well become one myself!" she went on. "I've been learning a lot. It seems a shame to just stop now." She was back to playing with the teapot, fiddling with the little porcelain lid shaped like a fin.

"Do you understand that Apprenticing requires a time commitment even more than what I have asked of you now?" he pressed.

"Of course," she answered serenely, studying the fish's lacquered blue eyes.

"Are you aware that an Apprentice generally isn't involved in the day-to-day dealings of special projects? Projects like the Vault?"

"You can't afford not to have me on the project," she said.

"Oh, no? Can't I?" he scoffed. Inside, however, he was scowling. Hadn't he just advocated for her to the Consensus not so long ago? "I could get a whole herd of Praxics banging down the Archive doors to take a look at our findings," he said. "In their midst, would you be able to keep to your Apprenticeship?"

She frowned, puzzled.

"What do you mean?"

"First and foremost, you are a Guardian. No Apprenticeship can change that. But if you're hoping that this will be a fast track to gaining further glory, I can tell you right now that your fellow Warlocks will only overlook you."

"You think I'm trying to use the Cryptarchy to further my status with the Order?" Her look was scandalized. And a little guilty. He'd caught her, hadn't he?

"The Apprenticeship is not some lark to cure boredom in your Warlock studies. Your Apprenticeship duties must be taken as seriously as any set to you by the Vanguard. And, frankly, I worry they would interfere with those responsibilities."

"I have done just fine so far!" she protested.

"With some creative rearranging," he reminded her.

She pursed her lips again.

"If you don't think I can do it, then why don't you come out and say so?" she snapped.

Blessed Light, she really was upset now. There was a hurt in her eyes that somehow he didn't think had come just from this conversation.

"I never said that," he replied calmly. "I just want…" he sighed. "Light, I just want you to be sure you know what you're getting into."

Her gaze was hopeful again, her sleeves twisted up into her fingers.

"Then you'll let me petition?" she asked.

This was absurd. To acquiesce would certainly be against his better judgment. Zinnia would be bored to tears within a week. She was just looking for some way to show him and the Vanguard she could do something serious before hopping off to her next flight of fancy. Light, she was…

She was looking at him with such quiet hope right now that he didn't know how he could say no.

"You may petition."

She clapped her hands in glee.

"Yes!"

He held up a warning finger.

"I said petition _only_. This is no guarantee of Apprenticeship! You must pass the first test."

"If you insist," she breezed. "When can we start?"

He shook his head. The Traveler save him, was he insane?

"When I am ready," he answered her. "And you'd best be on your toes, Initiate. The tests can come in surprising form." He was making that part up, though it occurred to him that perhaps he ought to choose something like cleaning her desk to be an examination. Light, that would change her tune right away!

The threat only seemed to bolster her confidence and determination. She rubbed her hands together.

"Bring it on!"

"Not tonight," he grunted. "Tonight, I'd like to get some sleep. After some soup."

She hopped up out of the chair and looked guiltily at the tray.

"Um…the soup wasn't a bribe, you know. That really was from Ella."

"Well, thank you," he said. "I appreciate the gesture and your taking the time to bring it over."

He opened the door for her, hoping she would at last get the hint. Mercifully, she followed him over. She paused in the doorway and grinned at him.

"The scones were from me, though. And those _are_ a bribe!"

"You really thought they would work?" he sighed.

"Of course! You're not hard to figure out, you know!"

She bounced out the door.

"I have to go! There's a big party in the Lounge tonight!" She skipped down the halls, vestments swishing at her heels, the proverbial cat who ate the canary.

Sacred Light of the Traveler, what on earth had he done?


	38. On This Day

Kemal knew there was a party long before he got to the bottom of the steps leading to the Hunter Lounge. The noise pouring out of the old cargo transport cabin could be heard all the way up to the Hangar's entrance. With Amanda Holliday's crew on light night duty, the Hangar itself felt unusually quiet by comparison. Even the Future War Cult's skybox above the maintenance deck was dark. Kemal was rather relieved by that. Members of the Cult spooked him. Sure, they were polite enough. They just seemed…unusual. Maybe it was the 'cult' tacked onto their name, minding him too much of the Cult of the Trinary Star. The FWC seemed to hold to the Light's Truth, those that professed it. The others…well, the others didn't at least outright blaspheme.

The Arach for Dead Orbit was nowhere to be found either. The Awoken man liked to haunt a particularly dreary corner of the Hangar. Kemal had shooed away more than one bright-eyed Dead Orbit member who looked at the Frame maintenance booth with a little too much interest. All the maintenance workers of the Tower had warned him to keep an eye on Dead Orbit. They would "scavenge" what they could, including your own tools, if you didn't keep a good lock on them.

Kemal decided he would double check the toolboxes and shelves while he put away the things he'd borrowed from Marcus on the evening shift. It would take a few more months of saving to be able to buy anything approaching the quality of Marcus' tools. The Tower provided good equipment for the Frames, but anyone keen to get the latest — and therefore, most expensive — tools to supplement the standard issue would have to pay out of pocket. It made sense: the Tower had to allocate its glimmer efficiently. From the little he had come to learn so far, it barely afforded to keep itself running.

Kemal yawned and trudged around the kiosk. Peals of laughter rolled out from the Lounge. It was packed with Guardians — mainly Hunters, of course. The array of cloaks on display made a dizzying tapestry of colors and patterns. There were a good number of Titans in the mix too, recognizable by their solid, stoic stances as much as by their Marks. Ghosts peppered the crowd, blinking and waving their fins, almost as varied as the cloaks.

The Guardians lounged on the battered sofas around the braziers or stood in clusters in the walkways, holding foaming glasses of beer or cans of synesthete. All eyes were trained to one of the sofas in the cramped room, where a tall, sandy-haired Hunter was standing on the cushions, waving his arms animatedly in the midst of his storytelling. He balanced on the wobbly cushions with typical Hunter ease, each movement looking like a dance. Kemal kept an eye on the scene while he worked. Nobody had noticed his arrival, so he was able to drink in the sight of so many Light Blessed in one place, allowing himself to stare with vulgar curiosity.

He was reluctantly leaving the booth when he bumped straight into a tall woman on the stairs. Mortified, he recognized her as a Guardian. He received another shock when he realized she was the Guardian he had helped not too long ago.

"Sorry!" she said, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He was already babbling an apology. She smiled brilliantly and swayed on her feet. She was simply dressed, not armored like that first night, her curly hair brushing her shoulders. He could see the telltale glaze to her curious eyes that meant she'd had quite a lot of whatever brew the Lounge was offering. Her Ghost hovered over her shoulder, watching Kemal in that placid, inscrutable way of Ghosts.

"Hey! I know you!" she said, before he could get another word out or slip away. She had removed her hand but he still felt like it remained. One of the Light Blessed had touched him. He tried not to register the shock in his face, for fear she would take it for disgust. His palms were sweating.

"Oh! Yeah! I…I prepared your living quarters, Guardian," he stammered.

She scrunched up her face, thinking.

"Hold on. I know this…Kemal, right?"

He blinked in surprise. She really did remember him?

"Y-yes!"

She grinned at him, pleased she had answered correctly.

"How are you, Kemal? It feels like forever since we last spoke."

He had to find his voice. He couldn't just stand there staring!

"I'm fine," he answered weakly. "I'm, um…I've been fine. And…and you?" The Traveler save him, how much more like an idiot could he sound?

"I have had some very strange days," she said matter-of-factly. "And they are going to get even stranger right now because I am about to choose my Order."

Her Ghost looked as surprised as Kemal felt. Its fins prickled..

 **Now?** he trilled. **Here? Tonight?!**

"Tonight!" She nodded emphatically, which caused her to sway again. "No more waiting! I have a name now, so why not choose an Order? It seems like a good night for making decisions."

 **Uh…but…well, perhaps you aren't in the best frame of mind…!** Her Ghost wouldn't come right out and say that she was drunk, but it was clear to anyone looking at her that she had been enjoying the party.

"I think I'm in a great frame of mind!" she said cheerfully. "I've followed the Warlocks, the Titans, and the Hunters. I've patrolled and fought beside them and listened to their philosophies on the Light."

 **It's hardly been a couple weeks since your Rebirth. You really shouldn't rush the decision!**

"Marina said I would know. You said I would know." She reached out and poked one of the Ghost's fins. "I know now." She grinned, her smile growing wider with the joy of revelation. "I _know_. And it feels amazing!"

Her Ghost blinked, taken aback.

 **Er, you're sure you don't want to wait until the morning? Sleep on the matter?**

"No! I want to tell everyone right now! Come on, Ghost! You too, Kemal! Let's go!"

The Guardian looped her arm through his and began to walk toward the party. Kemal nearly dug his heels into the metal grating, certain she couldn't be serious. But there they went, right into the crowd of Guardians. He could feel the blood draining from his face, his shocked protests sticking in his throat as he brushed by them. She led him straight to the sofa where the Hunter was telling his stories.

"Hey, everyone!" she shouted, causing that Hunter and all the partygoers to put their wobbly attention straight on them. "This is Kemal! He works in the Tower. He helped me out my first day here!"

Greetings and shouts of hello bubbled up from all around. The blood leaped back to Kemal's face. A Titan slapped him on the shoulder. Someone thrust a drink at him. He took the glass, hands shaking so badly he nearly dropped it. Were it not for the Guardian's hold on his arm, he thought he might fall over.

"Tory!" she cried, pointing at the Hunter who was still standing on the cushions. He was caught mid-drink and lowered his glass, raising his eyebrow and swiping his cuff across his mouth.

"You wanted me to tell a story?" she asked, releasing Kemal's arm and putting her hands on her hips. "Okay, I'll tell a story! Here, move over! It's my turn!" She shooed the Hunter off the sofa cushions. A Hunter with a half-shaved head laughed and made room for her to stand. Tory leaned against the sofa arm on her other side, smiling and shaking his head. Her Ghost seemed at a loss for whether to stick to her shoulder and have all eyes on it too or watch like the others. It hovered by her elbow, blinking up at her, a nervous cast to its fins.

Kemal felt himself sweating. Every inch of the Lounge was covered with Guardians. He recognized the tiny Warlock Zinnia from the Archives on the sofa to his left, sitting next to a scarred, Exo Titan. A slim female Exo sat next to him, dressed in flowing garments and Mark, elegant among the carefree revelry.

"On a cold, winter evening in the Cosmodrome, a very resourceful Ghost found his Guardian." The Guardian standing on the couch began. She reached over and tickled her thoughtful Ghost's fins, causing it to jump in the air and blink shyly at the applauding crowd.

"He led her to the safety of the Tower where she saw many wonderful and bizarre things." Here she looked pointedly at Tory. The crowd laughed appreciatively and Tory shrugged.

"The new Guardian befriended a Warlock, who showed her the connection to the Light and fought by her side." She smiled warmly at the little Warlock who practically bounced up and down on the cushions, her drink slopping in her glass. Zinnia appeared to be the only Warlock at the party.

"She befriended the Titans, who showed her the City and the strength of the Wall, as well as the strength of a Guardian's will to serve." Here she nodded at the Exos sitting next to the Warlock. The Titans in the crowd cheered.

"And she befriended the Hunters," here she glanced at Tory and the dark-haired Hunter at her feet, "or should I say, got roped into their crazy schemes?" Now she looked at an Awoken Huntress and an Exo. Kemal recognized them as the Cruciblers he'd watched on the illicit stream. The Hunters of the party whistled and hooted. The two Cruciblers nodded appreciatively.

"There were many important things to learn and many challenges for the new Guardian," she continued. "Without the help of her friends, the more experienced Guardians who guided her, she would have been lost again. This New Light would have burnt out immediately." Her feelings, made mercurial by drink, were echoed by the crowd who turned from festivity to somber gratitude in the blink of an eye. There were many nods of approval and murmurs of agreement.

A sudden grin spread across her face, the somber left behind.

"Throughout all this, almost as much as this Guardian was hounded for a name, she was hounded to choose an Order." There were many chuckles at that, Guardians nodding in sympathy. Kemal watched everything, still stunned, still waiting to be thrown out. "The Guardian thought it would be a difficult decision, and it was. But her choice has been made!"

The Guardians cheered and clapped, delighted as they realized she was quite serious. She raised her hands, grinning exuberantly, drawing their attention back to her words.

"Not everyone will be pleased with what I have to say, and I know I will have to prove myself to the Order. Fortunately for me, I've learned to take advice — which I desperately need right now!"

She paused for dramatic effect, taking a long drink and draining her glass.

"So help me out here, Guardians. What color should my first cloak be?"

There was a moment of silence as her words registered in the crowd's somewhat drink-slowed minds. Then, the Hangar lounge erupted. The roar of shouts and cheers was deafening. The Hunters all sprang to their feet. The Titans alternately cheered and booed her, though even the ones booing had grins plastered on their faces. Zinnia was laughing in defeat, shaking her head helplessly at her friend. The newly declared Hunter was laughing the hardest of them all. Her Ghost spun its fins in an ecstasy of surprise and confusion. She was gathered on the shoulders of the Titans and the crowd began to sweep out of the lounge. Kemal was drawn along inexorably, unable to keep from laughing himself, the jubilant mood contagious. He sensed he had just witnessed something momentous, and felt privileged to have seen it.

The Hunters began to chant, carrying her up into the Hangar. The night shift goggled at them. Despite her apparent dismay at her friend's choice, Zinnia cavorted alongside the procession. The Hunters began to strip off their cloaks, draping them over their newest member's head and shoulders, decking her out in a wild display of cloth until she was nearly buried. The raucous crowd walked all the way to the North Tower, past the darkened observatory where the Speaker spent his days, all the way to the Archive doors. They pounded on the heavy, carved panels until Master Rahool himself peeked out.

"Cryptarch!" Tory cried to the astonished Master. "Record this day! We have a new Hunter in our ranks!"

The Cryptarch gaped at the new Hunter on the shoulders of the crowd, who waved down at him cheerfully from beneath her blanket of cloaks. Zinnia bounded forward, catching the Cryptarch's hands.

"She chose! She chose!" she laughed, jumping up and down.

Master Rahool could hardly be heard over the noise. He stared bewildered at the Warlock, trying to sort everything out. At last, he slipped back inside and reappeared with a datapad. The chanting continued while he tapped out a few items on the pad, Tory leaning over his shoulder, much to the Cryptarch's annoyance. Tory began to read aloud as Master Rahool wrote.

"It is hereby recorded that on this day, in the first month of the Seventh Age, that Guardian Quarrel has joined the Order of Hunters!" Tory broke off into a wild shout, immediately echoed by the other Hunters. They took off again for a circuit of the Tower. Kemal remained behind, feeling it was as good a time as any to bow out of the wild celebration.

He found himself standing alone with the Cryptarch, who was slowly shaking his head at the departing parade of Guardians.

"I knew she'd choose the Hunters," Master Rahool grunted. "I think she's the only one who didn't. Zinnia's taking it better than I thought."

"Do you always record the Order?" Kemal asked. He imagined Cryptarchs being sent for at all hours of the day whenever a new Guardian finally chose.

"Hardly!" Master Rahool snorted. "The Hunters are the only ones who insist on an Archival record. It's some new idea they got in their heads a while back. Don't ask me to understand their ways!"

"The Light Blessed are certainly a mystery," Kemal nodded.

"Indeed." Master Rahool's eyebrow twitched, taking in Kemal's flushed face and the drink in his hand.

"The Light keep you, Cryptarch," Kemal said, excusing himself.

"And you," Master Rahool replied, no doubt wondering what he had been doing caught up with them.

Kemal strolled back toward the plaza, his head still spinning. He didn't think he would forget this night for as long as he lived. To be working with the Guardians was an experience enough. To have the Light Blessed treat him like one of their own was overwhelming. Their party seemed like any number of gatherings he and his friends had attended when he was still at the College. Yet he could hardly consider himself an equal guest!

He sipped his beer. Blustery Brew. Someone had paid a fair amount of glimmer for tonight's festivities. He drank and whistled all the way back to his quarters.


	39. Epilogue: What Might Be

Rahool should have known the dreams would come again. Without fail, at least once per illness in all his life so far, the confused visions would haunt him through the night. With his head cold disappearing, he had thought this time maybe the cycle was broken. Alas, no such luck. Not long after he had called it a night and pulled the blankets up to his ears, the dreams started.

 _Seven stars he had to outrun. A hallway that twisted upon itself. Seven stars, their light a terror. A vast library in an unknown place. Every time a book was opened, the words disappeared. Seven stars, whose music he must not listen to. The library crumbling. Inaiya calling his name from somewhere outside…_

Rahool groaned and rolled over, struggling into wakefulness. His hair felt like it would stand on end. He sat up and reached a trembling hand to the bedside lamp, nearly knocking it over as he fumbled to turn the switch. Warm light pooled over the bed. He was in his room in the Tower and he was alone.

He let out a long sigh and ran his hands over his face and through his hair, fingers brushing the old scar across his right temple. The simple cotton shirt he wore was wet around the collar with sweat. Blessed Light, these dreams were so unfair! Why did they have to be so cruel? He hadn't dreamed of Inaiya in years, but even the ones that didn't include her never made him feel better.

The dreams were a legacy from his mother, though she was no longer around to comfort him when they appeared. It used to be that she would sit on the edge of his bed and put a cool, slim hand to his forehead, murmuring soothing songs until he would fall back asleep. Tonight he would have to settle for a cold wash cloth and a cup of tea.

Rahool slid out of bed and walked on shaking legs to the master bath. The cold water did help some, shocking him back to the present. Why under the Light couldn't he just get a peaceful night's sleep? Everyone always told him to go home and rest when he was ill. If only they knew what awaited him! He shivered under the bright bathroom light, examining himself warily in the mirror. At least his eyes were all right this time. No color changes or blindness. Blessed Light, but it was unsettling when the visions would fade and he could still see remnants of the cold fire where the gold should be!

He switched off the light and shuffled back to the bedroom, digging in the chest of drawers for a clean shirt. Now that he had calmed some, he was feeling chill again. Blasted illnesses and their blasted temperature swings! He chose a long-sleeved affair and pulled it on quickly. A hot cup of tea was definitely in order. At this rate of consumption he'd need a new order by the end of the week!

He wanted the soothing ritual of the kettle, so he poured the water and set it on the stove to warm, eschewing the instant boiling spigot at hand. The dry, earthy aroma of the tea leaves in their ceramic container was already a comfort. He leaned against the countertop with folded arms and stared out the balcony windows to the lights of the City below.

He could remember the first time these dreams had ever happened, when he was still a young boy. His father had chalked it up to typical youthful night terrors, but when Rahool had described what he had seen to his mother, her expression had gone from sympathy to concern. Concern that she quickly smoothed away when she saw that he was watching her reaction. The next time they happened, several months later when he had come down with the starred fever going about the children, she had started to ask him questions about the dreams. Just gentle, innocent questions that at the time he thought meant she was interested in his imagination. But then, the next night, she had come to him to check his temperature and had told him something he would never forget.

 _My dear. These dreams…do not speak of them to anyone but your father and I. They are special. They are a secret for you alone to decide to share. But you must be careful who you share them with._

He had been utterly confused, had pestered her with questions, but she had remained firm. Always she'd had a smile for him, but when she warned him thus, her sweet smile was gone. His questions faded when her smile did. Even then, he'd realized that something important was happening. Only much later would he realize that he had inherited some tiny part of his mother's gift for visions. He could not make the dreams come at will like his mother or any of the other Techeuns could. He could not interpret them with the skill and certainty of their coven. No, all he could do was watch them play out and be tossed around by them. Usually in bewilderment. Sometimes, like tonight, in agony.

The tea kettle began to whistle. Rahool shook his head. Light, he had been about to nod off again! He turned off the heat and poured the boiling water into a mug over a little silver tea infuser. The mug was a lumpy thing, barely recognizable as something to drink from, the ceramic inexpertly shaped and colored. Etched into its surface were crude stick drawings of smiling faces and charms and kittens and all sorts of childish nonsense, with names long since grown up. That whole Foundry district class of children had worked together to make this one mug, so that he might "take it to The Tower's Shadow and drink all the coffee he wanted". It wasn't the most beautiful thing to ever come off a potter's wheel, but it was one of the most precious treasures he owned.

They had all treated him too kindly for what little service he had rendered. Light…where were they all now? He took a sip of tea and murmured a prayer to the Traveler, then an old Reef prayer for protection. Most times, he felt satisfied looking toward the Traveler. On nights like tonight, older beliefs still held some sway. Beliefs he wasn't sure he still held, but shivered at all the same.

He ought to write down what he had seen in the dream.

It took a little hunting through his bookcases to find the little leather pocketbook stuffed out of sight. The pages were yellowing and creased, water-stained in places. Most of the dreams of the past three decades were recorded here, along with old notes from before his time in the City. He really ought to transfer them to a datapad…but not yet. The information could be easily secured. He was no slouch at that. But still his mother's warnings echoed urgent in his heart. What would the Consensus do with such information? Would they ask anything of him, should he prove to be some minor prophet? He didn't want to become some science project, especially for the Warlocks. Imagine if Zinnia were suddenly put to the task to study him instead of study with him! Blessed Light!

No, he was being ridiculous. His secrecy was not a fear of the Consensus, just an old man's paranoia, an unfortunate byproduct of the Reef. At any rate, the Warlocks and their simplest meditations could conjure up more useful visions than a whole week of his dreams. They were weak. They were nonsensical. They had never quite come true.

He began to write. _Seven stars…_

No constellation that he recognized. What in the Light did they mean? He remembered a distinct cold terror whenever glimpsing them. He remembered a tone that his mind reeled to recall. Perhaps he ought to pay a visit to Ikora and pick over her knowledge of off-world constellations. But how to do that out of the blue without making the Warlock suspicious? Any number of made up "Cryptarchy projects" would suffice to satisfy most people's curiosity, but not hers. He would just leave it for now.

The twisting corridor…well, apart from his work feeling like a tangled mess, he really wasn't sure what that corridor was supposed to mean. And perhaps there was no meaning — yet. That was the trouble with these visions. He could never tell if they were symbols of what was or omens of what might be.

Inaiya, though…that was a subject he could be certain was firmly in the past. Rahool closed the journal. He simply did not have the energy to chase that line of painful memory tonight.

A leftover scone sat on the tray Zinnia had brought. He ate it with the tea and turned his thoughts to dealing with the exuberant Warlock. The challenge was not particularly mood enhancing, but at least she was a puzzle he was slowly learning to work out. Until she changed the picture on him, anyways. He'd really been blindsided by her request to join the Cryptarchy. Shenu would certainly not be pleased with her decision — and the man could choke on that displeasure for all he cared! Shenu wouldn't settle for anything less than the Cryptarchy's dismantling. Now, if only he could be sure that inducting Zinnia into the Order wouldn't accomplish just such a thing!

The scone gone, the tea kettle cooling, he went back to bed.

 **End of the first book of Tempus Fugit**


End file.
